ANATOLE  FRANCE 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
RE1NE  PEDAUQUE 


AT   THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
REINE    PEDAUQUE 


TH£  T>EFINITIV£ 


AT  THE  SIGN 

of  the 
REINE  PEDAUQUE 

<BY 


DODD-MEAD  6?  COMPANY 


Published  in  U.  S.  A..  1922, 

by 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC 


PRINTED  IN   U.    S.  A, 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  vii 

PREFACE  i 

CHAPTER    I  4 

II  15 

III  21 

IV  26 
V  44 

VI  53 

VII  60 

"        VIII  66 

IX  7i 

X  79 

XI  87 

"         XII  92 

"       XIII  106 

XIV  no 

XV  127 

XVI  134 

"      XVII  165 

"    XVIII  188 

XIX  247 

XX  255 

XXI  259 

"      XXII  263 

"    XXIII  266 

"    XXIV  272 


2032318 


INTRODUCTION 

|  HE  novel  of  which  the  following 
pages  are  a  translation  was  pub- 
lished in  1893,  the  author's  forty- 
ninth  year,  and  comes  more  or  less 
midway  in  the  chronological  list  of 
his  works.  It  thus  marks  the  flood 
tide  of  his  genius,  when  his  imagina- 
tive power  at  its  brightest  came  into  conjunction 
with  the  full  ripeness  of  his  scholarship.  It  is,  per- 
haps, the  most  characteristic  example  of  that  elu- 
sive point  of  view  which  makes  for  the  magic  of 
Anatole  France.  No  writer  is  more  personal. 
No  writer  views  human  affairs  from  a  more  imper- 
sonal standpoint.  He  hovers  over  the  world  like 
a  disembodied  spirit,  wise  with  the  learning  of  all 
times  and  with  the  knowledge  of  all  hearts  that 
have  beaten,  yet  not  so  serene  and  unfleshly  as  not 
to  have  preserved  a  certain  tricksiness,  a  capacity 
for  puckish  laughter  which  echoes  through  his  pages 
and  haunts  the  ear  when  the  covers  of  the  book  are 
closed.  At  the  same  time  he  appears  unmistakably 
before  you,  in  human  guise,  speaking  to  you  face  to 
face,  in  human  tones.  He  will  present  tragic  hap- 
penings consequent  on  the  little  follies,  meannesses 
and  passions  of  mankind  with  an  emotionlessness 
which  would  be  called  delicate  cruelty  were  the 
view  point  that  of  one  of  the  sons  of  earth,  but 
ceases  to  be  so  when  the  presenting  hands  are  calm 
and  immortal;  and  yet  shining  through  all  is  the 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

man  himself,  loving  and  merciful,  tender  and  warm. 

The  secret  of  this  paradox  lies  in  the  dual  tem- 
perament of  the  artist  and  the  philosopher.  One 
is  ever  amused  by  the  riddle  of  life,  dallies  with  it 
in  his  study,  and  seeks  solutions  scholarwise  in  the 
world  of  the  past,  knowing  full  well  that  all  endeav- 
ours to  pierce  the  veil  are  vanity,  and  that  meas- 
ured by  the  cosmic  scale  the  frying  of  a  St.  Law- 
rence and  the  chilblain  on  a  child's  foot  are  equally 
insignificant  occurrences.  The  other  penetrated  by 
the  beauty  and  interest  of  the  world  is  impelled  by 
psychological  law  to  transmit  through  the  prism  of 
his  own  individuality  his  impressions,  his  rare  sense 
of  relative  values,  his  passionate  conviction  of 
the  reality  and  importance  of  things.  The  result  of 
the  dual  temperament  is  entertaining.  What  the 
artist,  after  infinite  travail,  has  created,  the  easy 
philosopher  laughs  at.  What  the  artist  has  set  up 
as  God,  the  philosopher  flouts  as  Baal.  In  most 
men  similarly  endowed  there  has  been  conflict  be- 
tween the  twin  souls  which  has  generally  ended  in 
the  strangling  of  the  artist;  but  in  the  case  of  Ana- 
tole  France  they  have  worked  together  in  bewild- 
ering harmony.  The  philosopher  has  been  mild, 
the  artist  unresentful.  In  amity  therefore  they 
have  proclaimed  their  faith  and  their  unfaith,  their 
aspirations  and  their  negations,  their  earnestness 
and  their  mockery.  And  since  they  must  proclaim 
them  in  one  single  voice,  the  natural  consequence, 
the  resultant  as  it  were  of  the  two  forces,  has  been 
a  style  in  which  beauty  and  irony  are  so  subtly  in- 
terfused as  to  make  it  perhaps  the  most  alluring 
mode  of  expression  in  contemporary  literature. 

The  personal  note  in  Anatole  France's  novels  is 
never  more  surely  felt  than  when  he  himself,  in 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

some  disguise,  is  either  the  protagonist  or  the  rai- 
sonneur  of  the  drama.  It  is  the  personality  of 
Monsieur  Bergeret  that  sheds  its  sunset  kindness 
over  the  sordid  phases  of  French  political  and  so- 
cial life  presented  in  the  famous  series.  It  is  the 
charm  of  Sylvestre  Bonnard  that  makes  an  idyll  of 
the  story  of  his  crime.  It  is  Doctor  Trublet  in 
Histoire  Comlque  who  gives  humanity  to  the*  fan- 
tastic adventure.  It  is  Maitre  Jerome  Coignard 
whom  we  love  unreservedly  in  La  Rotisserie  de  la 
Reine  Pedauque.  And  saving  the  respect  due  to 
Anatole  France,  Monsieur  Bergeret,  Sylvestre  Bon- 
nard, Doctor  Trublet  and  Maitre  Jerome  Coignard 
are  but  protean  manifestations  of  one  and  the  same 
person.  Of  them  all  we  cannot  but  love  most  Mai- 
tre Jerome  Coignard.  And  the  reason  is  plain. 
He  is  the  only  scapegrace  of  the  lot.  Even  were 
he  a  layman  we  should  call  him  a  pretty  scoundrel; 
but,  priest  that  he  is,  we  have  no  words  wherein  to 
summarise  the  measure  of  his  fall  from  grace.  He 
drinks,  he  brawls,  he  cheats  at  cards;  he  cannot 
pass  a  pretty  girl  on  the  stairs  but  his  arm  slips 
round  her  waist;  to  follow  in  Pandarus's  foot-steps 
causes  him  no  compunction;  he  "borrows"  half  a 
dozen  bottles  of  wine  from  an  inn,  and  runs  away 
with  his  employer's  diamonds.  At  first  sight  he 
appears  to  be  an  unconscionable  villain.  But  en- 
dow him  with  the  inexhaustible  learning,  the  phil- 
osophy, the  mansuetude,  the  wit  of  Monsieur  Ber- 
geret, imagine  him  a  Sylvestre  Bonnard  qualified 
for  the  personal  entourage  of  Pantagruel,  and  you 
have  a  totally  different  conception  of  his  character. 
He  becomes  for  you  the  bon  Maitre  of  Tourne- 
broche,  his  pupil,  a  personage  cast  in  heroic  mould 
who,  at  all  events,  drank  in  life  with  great  lungs  and 


x  INTRODUCTION 

died  like  a  man  and  a  Christian.  Now  there  dwells 
in  the  heart  of  the  mildest  scholar  a  little  demon  of 
unrest  whom  academies  may  imprison  but  cannot 
kill.  It  is  he  who  cries  out  for  redemption  from 
virtue  and  proclaims  the  glories  of  the  sinful 
life.  He  whispers — of  course  mendaciously,  for 
demons  and  truth  are  known  to  be  sworn  enemies — 
that  there  is  mighty  fine  living  in  the  world  of  toss- 
pots and  trulls  and  rufflers,  and  having  insidiously 
changed  the  good  man's  pen  into  a  rapier,  and  his 
ink-pot  into  a  quart  measure,  leads  him  forth  on 
strange  literary  adventures. 

On  such  an  adventure  has  the  scholar  (at  the 
same  time  mocking  philospher  and  exquisite  artist) 
gone  in  the  Rotisserie  de  la  Reine  Pedauque.  He 
has  gone  in  all  lustiness,  in  a  spaciousness  of  enjoy- 
ment granted  only  to  the  great  imaginers,  and 
vested  in  Maitre  Coignard's  wine-stained  cassock 
he  comes  to  you  with  all  the  irresistible  charm  of 
his  personality. 

WILLIAM  J.  LOCKE. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
REINE  PEDAUQUE* 


PREFACE 

T  is  my  design  to  recount  the  singular 
chances  of  my  life.  Some  of  them 
have  been  strange  and  some  beauti- 
ful. In  bringing  them  to  memory  it 
is  doubtful  even  to  me  whether  I 
have  not  dreamt  them.  I  once  knew 
a  Gascon  cabalist,  whom  I  cannot 
call  wise  for  he  perished  very  unhappily,  who,  how- 
ever, one  night,  in  the  Isle  of  Swans,  entranced  me 
with  his  sublime  discourse  which  I  have  been  fortu- 
nate enough  to  keep  in  mind  and  careful  to  put  in 
writing.  His  discourses  treated  of  magic  and  the 
occult  sciences  which  run  so  much  in  peoples' 
heads  to-day.  One  hears  of  nothing  but  the  Rosy- 
Cross,  f  For  the  matter  of  that  I  do  not  flatter 
myself  that  I  shall  gain  much  honour  by  these  rev- 
elations. Some  will  say  that  I  have  invented  it  all, 
and  that  it  is  not  the  true  doctrine;  others,  that  I 
have  only  told  what  every  one  knew  before.  I  al- 
low that  I  am  not  very  well  grounded  in  the  cabala, 
my  master  having  perished  at  the  beginning  of  my 

*The  original  M.S.  in  a  fine  handwriting  of  the  eighteenth 
century  bore  as  sub-title:  "The  Life  and  Opinions  of  Abbe 
Jerome  Coignard."  [A.  France.] 

t  This  was  written  during  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  [A.  France.] 


2  PREFACE 

initiation.  But  the  little  that  I  did  learn  of  his  art 
made  me  very  strongly  suspect  that  it  is  all  illusion, 
fraud,  and  vanity.  Besides,  it  is  enough  for  me  to 
know  that  magic  is  contrary  to  religion  for  me  to 
reject  it  with  my  whole  heart.  Nevertheless  I 
think  I  ought  to  make  myself  clear  on  one  point  of 
his  false  science  in  order  that  I  may  not  be  thought 
more  ignorant  than  I  am.  I  know  that  cabalists 
in  general  think  that  sylphs,  salamanders,  elves, 
gnomes,  and  gnomides,  are  born  with  a  soul  as  per- 
ishable as  their  bodies,  and  that  they  acquire  im- 
mortality by  commerce  with  the  magi.*  My  caba- 
list  taught  me,  on  the  contrary,  that  eternal  life  was 
the  birthright  of  no  creature,  whether  terrestrial 
or  aerial.  I  have  followed  his  opinion  without  pre- 
tending to  judge  of  it. 

He  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  elves  kill  those 
who  reveal  their  mysteries,  and  he  attributed  to  the 
vengeance  of  these  sprites  the  death  of  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  Coignard,  who  was  assassinated  on  the 
Lyons  Road.  But  I  well  knew  that  his  death,  ever 
to  be  deplored,  had  a  more  natural  cause.  I  shall 
speak  freely  of  the  genii  of  water  and  fire.  One 
must  needs  run  divers  risks  in  life,  and  that  from 
the  sprites  is  small  in  the  extreme. 

I  have  jealously  garnered  the  sayings  of  my 
good  master,  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Jerome  Coignard, 
who  perished  as  I  have  just  said.  'Twas  a  man 
full  of  wisdom  and  piety.  Had  he  known  more 

•This  opinion  is  notably  sustained  in  a  small  book  by  Abbe 
Montfaucon  de  Villars,  "The  Comte  de  Gabalis,  or  Conversations 
on  the  Secret  and  Mysterious  Sciences  following  the  Principles  of 
the  Ancient  Magi  or  Cabalistic  Sages."  There  are  several  edi- 
tions. I  will  content  myself  with  citing  one:  (that  published  at 
Amsterdam  by  Jacques  le  Jeune,  1700,  in  18  mo.  illustrated)  which 
contains  a  second  part  which  is  not  in  the  original  edition.  [A. 
France.] 


PREFACE  3 

peace  of  soul  he  might  have  equalled  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  Rollin  *  in  virtue  as  he  far  surpassed  him 
in  range  of  knowledge  and  depth  of  understanding. 
At  least  he  had  in  the  turmoil  of  a  troubled  life 
the  advantage  over  Monsieur  Rollin  in  that  he  did 
not  fall  into  Jansenism.  For  the  strength  of  his 
intelligence  remained  unshaken  by  any  violence  of 
rash  doctrines,  and  I  can  bear  witness  before  God 
to  the  purity  of  his  faith.  He  had  a  great  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  acquired  by  frequenting  every- 
kind  of  company.  This  experience  would  have 
served  him  well  in  the  history  of  Rome,  which  he 
would  doubtless  have  composed  after  the  style 
of  Monsieur  Rollin,  had  not  time  and  leisure 
failed  him,  and  if  his  way  of  life  had  better  assorted 
with  his  genius.  What  I  can  relate  of  so  excellent 
a  man  will  be  an  ornament  to  my  memoirs.  Like 
Aulus  Gellius  who  gives  the  finest  passage  of  the 
philosophers  in  his  Attic  Nights,  like  Apuleius  who 
puts  in  his  Golden  Ass  the  best  fables  of  the  Greeks, 
I  undertake  a  bee-like  industry  and  hope  to  gather 
the  most  exquisite  honey.  Nevertheless  I  cannot 
flatter  myself  to  the  point  of  thinking  that  I  can 
emulate  these  two  great  authors,  since  it  is  only 
from  the  souvenirs  of  my  own  life  and  not  from 
wide  and  varied  reading  that  I  draw  all  my  riches. 
What  I  supply  of  my  own  material  is  my  good 
faith.  If  ever  any  one  is  curious  enough  to  read 
my  memoirs  he  will  recognise  that  only  a  simple 
soul  could  express  itself  in  language  so  simple 
and  coherent.  I  was  always  thought  simple-minded 
in  every  company  I  have  mixed  in,  and  this  work 
can  but  perpetuate  this  opinion  after  my  death. 

*  Rollin,  Charles.    Abbi,  Jansenist,  historian,   1661-1741. 


Y  name  is  Elme-Laurent-Jacques 
Menetrier.  My  father,  Leonard 
Menetrier,  kept  a  cook-shop  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Jacques  at  the  sign  of  the 
Reine  Pedauque,  whose  feet,  as  one 
____—_b___—  knows,  were  webbed  after  the  fash- 
ion of  ducks  and  geese. 

His  gables  rose  over  against  Saint*Benoit-le-Be- 
tourne,  between  Madame  Gilles  the  draper  at  the 
sign  of  the  Trois  Pucelles,  and  Monsieur  Blaizot  the 
bookseller  at  the  sign  of  the  Image  of  Saint  Cather- 
ine, and  not  far  from  the  Petit  Bacchus,  whose  rail- 
ing, decorated  with  vine-branches,  formed  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  des  Cordiers.  He  was  very  fond  of  me, 
and  when  I  lay  in  my  little  bed  after  supper  he  would 
take  my  hand  in  his,  and  raising  my  fingers  one  after 
the  other,  beginning  with  the  thumb,  would  say: 

"This  one  killed  it,  this  one  plucked  it,  this  one 
fried  it,  and  this  one  ate  it.  And  here's  little  Riqui- 
qui,  who  gets  nothing  at  all." 

"Sauce,  sauce,  sauce,"  he  would  add,  tickling  the 
palm  of  my  hand  with  the  tip  of  my  little  finger. 

And  he  laughed  loudly.  I  laughed  also  till  I  fell 
asleep,  and  my  mother  vowed  that  the  smile  was  still 
on  my  lips  next  morning. 

My  father  was  a  good  cook  and  feared  God. 
That  is  why  on  feast-days  he  carried  the  banner  of 
the  cooks  whereon  was  embroidered  a  beautiful  St. 
Laurence  with  his  gridiron  and  his  golden  palm. 
My  father  used  to  say  to  me : 
4 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  5 

"Jacquot,  your  mother  is  a  saintly  and  worthy 
woman." 

It  was  a  speech  he  was  fond  of  repeating.  And 
in  truth  my  mother  went  to  church  every  Sunday 
carrying  a  book  printed  in  large  letters.  For  she 
could  not  read  small  print  well,  saying  it  dragged 
the  eyes  out  of  her  head.  My  father  passed  an  hour 
or  two  every  evening  at  the  inn,  the  Petit  Bacchus, 
where  Jeannette  the  viol  player,  and  Catherine  the 
lace-maker  would  also  repair.  And  whenever  he 
returned  a  little  later  than  usual  he  would  say  in  a 
softened  voice  as  he  donned  his  cotton  night-cap, 
"Barbe,  sleep  in  peace.  As  I  told  the  lame  cutler 
but  a  moment  ago,  you  are  a  saintly  and  worthy 
woman." 

I  was  six  years  of  age  when  one  day,  readjusting 
his  apron,  always  a  sign  in  him  of  having  come  to  a 
resolution,  he  spoke  to  me  as  follows : 

"Miraut,  our  faithful  dog,  has  turned  my  spit  for 
fourteen  years.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  him. 
He  is  a  good  servant  who  has  never  robbed  me  of 
the  smallest  morsel  of  turkey  or  goose,  happy  if, 
as  reward  for  his  work,  he  was  allowed  to  lick  the 
jack.  But  he  is  growing  old.  His  paws  are  stiffen- 
ing, he  no  longer  sees,  and  he  is  of  no  use  for  turn- 
ing the  wheel.  Jacquot,  it  is  for  you,  my  son,  to 
take  his  place.  With  care  and  a  little  practice  you 
will  succeed  as  well  as  he." 

Miraut  heard  these  words  and  wagged  his  tail  in 
sign  of  approval. 

My  father  continued. 

"Very  well  then,  seated  on  this  stool  you  will  turn 
the  spit.  Nevertheless,  so  as  to  form  your  mind 
you  can  go  over  your  catechism,  and  when,  in  con- 
sequence, you  are  able  to  read  all  the  printed  letters 


6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

you  can  learn  by  heart  some  book  of  grammar,  or 
instruction,  or  yet  again  the  admirable  teachings  of 
the  Old  and  New  Testament.  For  knowledge  of 
God  and  of  the  distinction  between  good  and  evil, 
are  necessary  even  in  the  practice  of  a  routine  such 
as  mine,  a  condition  of  little  standing,  no  doubt,  but 
honest,  and  after  all  that  of  my  father,  and  yet  one 
day  thine,  please  God." 

From  that  day  forward,  seated  from  morning  till 
evening  in  the  chimney  corner,  I  turned  the  spit, 
my  catechism  open  on  my  knees.  A  good  capuchin, 
who  came  bag  in  hand  to  beg  of  my  father,  helped 
me  with  my  spelling.  He  did  it  all  the  more  will- 
ingly for  that  my  father,  who  respected  knowledge, 
paid  him  for  his  lessons  with  a  good  slice  of  turkey 
and  a  big  glass  of  wine,  so  that  at  length  the  little 
brother,  seeing  that  I  could  put  together  syllables 
and  words  fairly  well,  brought  me  a  beautiful  life 
of  St.  Marguerite  wherein  he  taught  me  to  read 
with  fluency. 

One  day,  putting  his  wallet  on  the  counter  accord- 
ing to  custom,  he  came  and  sat  down  near  me,  and 
warming  his  bare  feet  in  the  ashes  on  the  hearth,  he 
made  me  repeat  for  the  hundredth  time : 

Virgin  wise  and  pure  and  fair 

Help  a  mother's  pains  to  bear 

Have  pity  on  us  all. 

At  that  moment  a  man,  thick  set  but  handsome, 
clad  in  ecclesiastical  garb,  came  into  the  kitchen  and 
cried  in  a  big  voice: 

"Hello,  mine  host!  Serve  me  with  something 
good." 

Under  his  grey  hair  he  looked  in  the  prime  of  life 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  7 

and  strength.  His  mouth  laughed,  his  eyes 
sparkled.  His  rather  heavy  jowl  and  triple  chin 
sloped  with  majesty  on  to  his  clerical  bands,  be- 
come, by  sympathy  no  doubt,  as  greasy  as  the  neck 
that  overhung  them.  My  father,  courteous  by  pro- 
fession, doffed  his  cap  and  said  as  he  bowed: 

"If  your  Reverence  will  warm  himself  at  my  fire 
I  will  serve  him  with  what  he  requires." 

Without  any  further  pressing  the  Abbe  took  his 
place  before  the  fire  beside  the  capuchin. 

Hearing  the  good  brother  read: 

Virgin  wise  and  pure  and  fair,  &c. 

he  clapped  his  hands  and  said: 

"Oh,  what  a  rare  bird!  What  an  uncommon 
man!  A  capuchin  who  can  read!  What  are  you 
called,  little  brother? 

"Brother  Ange,  an  unworthy  capuchin,"  an- 
swered my  master. 

My  mother,  who  had  heard  voices  from  her 
room  above,  came  down  into  the  shop,  drawn  by 
curiosity. 

The  Abbe  greeted  her  with  a  politeness  that  was 
already  friendly,  and  said: 

"Here  is  something  to  be  admired,  Madame, 
brother  Ange  is  a  capuchin,  and  he  can  read." 

"He  can  read  anything  written,"  answered  my 
mother. 

And  approaching  the  brother  she  recognised  the 
hymn  of  St.  Marguerite  by  the  picture  representing 
the  virgin-martyr,  holy-water  sprinkler  in  hand. 

"This  hymn  is  difficult  to  read,"  she  added,  "be- 
cause the  words  are  quite  small  and  are  scarcely 
separated  the  one  from  the  other.  Happily,  it 


8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

suffices,  when  in  pain,  to  apply  it  as  a  poultice  to 
the  part  that  hurts  the  most,  and  it  acts  thus  as  well 
and  even  better  than  when  recited.  I  have  put  it  to 
the  proof,  Monsieur,  at  the  birth  of  my  son  Jac- 
quot,  who  is  here  present." 

"Do  not  doubt  it,  my  good  Madame,"  said 
brother  Ange.  "The  hymn  to  St.  Marguerite  is 
a  sovereign  remedy  for  what  you  say,  on  the  ex- 
press condition  that  alms  be  given  to  the  capuchins." 

With  these  words  brother  Ange  emptied  the  gob- 
let which  my  mother  had  filled  to  the  brim  for 
him,  threw  his  wallet  over  his  shoulder,  and  went 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  Petit  Bacchus.  My 
father  served  the  Abbe  with  a  portion  of  chicken, 
and  he,  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  slice  of  bread, 
a  flask  of  wine,  and  a  knife  whose  copper  handle 
represented  the  late  king  as  a  Roman  emperor  on  an 
antique  column,  began  his  supper. 

But  he  had  barely  put  the  first  morsel  of  food  in 
his  mouth  before  he  stopped  and,  turning  to  my 
father,  asked  for  salt,  appearing  surprised  that  he 
had  not  been  offered  the  salt-cellar  before. 

"It  was  customary,"  said  he,  "among  the  ancients 
to  offer  salt  as  a  sign  of  hospitality.  Moreover, 
they  placed  salt-cellars  in  the  temples  on  the  tables 
of  the  gods." 

My  father  handed  him  grey  salt  in  the  wooden 
shoe  which  hung  in  the  chimney  corner.  The  Abbe 
took  what  he  wanted  and  said: 

"The  ancients  looked  upon  salt  as  a  necessary 
seasoning  for  all  meals,  and  they  rated  it  so  highly 
that  they  gave  the  metaphorical  name  of  salt  to  all 
witticisms  which  add  savour  to  conversation." 

"Ah!"    said  my   father,    "however   highly  your 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  9 

ancients  may  have  held  it,  the  salt  tax  of  to-day  puts 
a  still  higher  price  upon  it." 

My  mother,  who  listened  as  she  knitted  a  woollen 
stocking,  was  pleased  to  put  in  a  word: 

"One  must  believe  salt  is  a  good  thing,  for  the 
priest  puts  a  grain  of  it  on  the  tongues  of  infants 
held  at  the  baptismal  font.  When  my  Jacquot  felt 
the  salt  on  his  tongue  he  pulled  a  face,  for  small  as 
he  was  he  was  cunning.  I  am  speaking,  Monsieur 
1'Abbe,  of  my  son  Jacques,  here  present." 

The  Abbe  looked  at  me  and  said: 

"He  is  a  big  boy  now.  Modesty  is  depicted  on 
his  face,  and  he  is  reading  the  life  of  St.  Marguerite 
attentively." 

"Oh!"  continued  my  mother,  "he  can  read  the 
prayer  against  chilblains  and  also  the  prayer  of  St. 
Hubert,  both  of  which  brother  Ange  has  given  him, 
and  the  history  of  him  who  was  devoured  in  the 
faubourg  Saint  Marcel  by  several  devils  for  having 
blasphemed  the  holy  Name  of  God." 

My  father  looked  at  me  with  admiration,  then 
whispered  in  the  Abbe's  ear  that  I  learnt  all  I 
wished  with  inborn  and  natural  facility. 

"Well,  then,  we  must  accustom  him  to  good  read- 
ing," replied  the  Abbe,  "which  is  the  ornament  of 
man,  a  consolation  in  this  life,  and  a  remedy  for  all 
ills,  even  those  of  love,  as  the  poet  Theocritus  af- 
firms." 

"Cook  though  I  am  I  venerate  knowledge,"  said 
my  father,  "and  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  it  is  a 
cure  for  love  as  your  worship  says.  But  I  do  not 
think  it  is  a  cure  for  hunger." 

"Perhaps  it  is  not  a  universal  panacea,"  answered 
the  Abbe,  "but  it  brings  some  solace  with  it,  after 


io  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

the  manner  of  an  exceeding  sweet  balm,  imperfect 
though  it  may  be." 

As  he  was  thus  talking,  Catherine  the  lace-maker 
appeared  on  the  threshold,  her  cap  over  one  ear, 
her  fichu  tumbled.  At  the  sight  of  her  my  mother 
frowned  and  dropped  three  stitches  of  her  knitting. 

"Monsieur  Menetrier,"  said  Catherine,  "come 
and  speak  to  the  officers  of  the  watch.  If  you  don't 
they  will  take  brother  Ange  off  to  prison  without 
fault  of  his.  The  good  brother  came  into  the  Petit 
Bacchus  a  moment  ago  and  drank  two  or  three  pots 
of  wine  for  which  he  did  not  pay,  for  fear,  said 
he,  of  wanting  in  respect  to  the  rule  of  St.  Francis. 
But  the  worst  part  of  the  affair  is  that  seeing  me 
in  the  arbour  with  friends,  he  came  up  to  me  to 
teach  me  a  new  hymn.  I  told  him  it  was  not  the 
right  moment,  but  as  he  became  insistent  the  lame 
cutler,  who  was  close  beside  me,  pulled  him  away 
by  the  beard.  Then  brother  Ange  flung  himself 
on  the  cutler,  who  rolled  on  the  ground  pulling 
over  the  table  and  the  jugs  with  him.  The  inn- 
keeper rushed  up  on  hearing  the  noise,  and  seeing 
the  table  overthrown,  the  wine  spilt,  and  brother 
Ange,  one  foot  on  the  cutler's  head,  brandishing  a 
stool  with  which  he  hit  all  who  came  near  him,  this 
wicked  landlord  swore  like  a  fiend,  and  fled  to  call 
the  watch.  .Monsieur  Menetrier,  come  without  de- 
lay, come  and  rescue  the  little  brother  from  the 
hands  of  the  officers !  He  is  a  holy  man  and  there 
is  excuse  to  be  made  for  him  in  this  matter." 

My  father  was  inclined  to  be  obliging  to  Cather- 
ine. Nevertheless  this  time  the  lace-maker's  words 
did  not  produce  the  effect  she  expected.  He  re- 
plied sharply  that  he  saw  no  excuse  for  the  capuchin, 
and  that  he  hoped  he  would  be  well  punished  with 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  n 

bread  and  water  in  the  blackest  dungeon-cell  of  the 
convent  whose  shame  and  disgrace  he  seemed  to  be. 

He  became  heated  as  he  spoke  : 

"A  drunkard  and  a  debauchee  to  whom  I  give 
good  wine  and  good  cheer  daily,  and  who  goes  off 
to  the  pot-house  to  wanton  with  trollops  who  are 
abandoned  enough  to  prefer  the  society  of  a  peddling 
cutler  and  a  capuchin  to  that  of  honest  trades- 
men of  the  neighbourhood.  Fie  I" 

He  stopped  short  at  this  part  of  his  invective  and 
looked  stealthily  at  my  mother,  who,  standing  stiff 
and  straight  by  the  staircase,  was  knitting  with 
short,  sharp  jerks  of  her  needles. 

Catherine,  surprised  at  this  bad  reception,  said 
drily : 

"So  you  won't  speak  a  good  word  for  him  to  the 
innkeeper  and  the  guard?" 

"If  you  like  I  will  tell  them  to  take  the  cutler 
with  the  capuchin." 

"But,"  she  said  laughing,  "the  cutler  is  your 
friend." 

"More  your  friend  than  mine,"  said  my  father 
irritably.  "A  beggar  who  tugs  at  a  strap  and 
limps." 

"Oh,  as  to  that  it  is  quite  true  that  he  limps,  he 
limps,  he  limps."  And  she  left  the  cook-shop 
bursting  with  laughter. 

My  father  turned  to  the  Abbe  who  was  scraping 
a  bone  with  his  knife,  "As  I  have  had  the  honour 
to  explain  to  your  worship,  every  lesson  in  reading 
and  writing  that  this  capuchin  gives  to  my  child  I 
have  paid  for  in  goblets  of  wine  and  succulent  slices 
of  hare,  rabbit,  goose,  nay  even  of  woodcock  and 
capon.  He  is  a  drunkard  and  a  debauchee." 

"No  doubt  about  that,"  replied  the  Abbe. 


12  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"But  if  he  dare  put  foot  in  my  house  again  I  will 
drive  him  out  with  a  broom-handle." 

"That  would  be  quite  right,"  said  the  Abbe. 
"This  capuchin  is  a  donkey,  and  he  would  teach 
your  son  to  bray  rather  than  to  talk.  You  will  do 
well  to  throw  into  the  fire  his  life  of  St.  Marguerite, 
his  prayer  against  chilblains,  and  the  story  of  the 
were-wolf  with  which  the  frowsy  monk  poisons  the 
child's  mind.  At  the  price  brother  Ange  got  for 
his  lessons  I  will  give  you  mine.  I  will  teach  the 
child  Latin  and  Greek,  French  too,  which  Voiture  * 
and  Balzac  t  have  so  perfected.  Thus  by  a  two- 
fold good  fortune,  for  it  is  both  rare  and  beneficent, 
Jacquot  Tournebroche  shall  become  learned,  and  I 
shall  have  a  meal  every  day." 

"Done,"  said  my  faher,  "Barbe,  bring  two  gob- 
lets. There  is  no  business  settled  when  the  parties 
have  not  touched  glasses  in  sign  of  agreement. 
We  will  drink  here.  I  never  want  to  set  foot  in  the 
Petit  Bacchus  again,  the  cutler  and  this  monk  have 
filled  me  with  such  disgust." 

The  Abbe  got  up  and  placing  his  hands  on  the 
back  of  his  chair  said  slowly  and  gravely: 

"Before  all  I  thank  God — Creator  and  Preser- 
ver of  all  good  things  for  having  led  me  to  this 
fostering  household.  It  is  He  alone  who  guides  us, 
and  we  should  acknowledge  His  providence  in  hu- 
man affairs,  though  it  may  be  rash  and  at  times  in- 
congruous to  obey  it  too  blindly.  For  being  univer- 
sal His  providence  is  to  be  encountered  in  all  sorts 
of  cases,  sublime  assuredly,  by  reason  of  God's  part 
in  them,  but  obscene  or  ridiculous  for  the  part 
played  in  them  by  men  which  is  the  only  side  they 

*  Voiture,   Vincent.     Academician,    1598-1648. 

t  Balzac,  J.  L.  G.  de.     Writer  and  orator,   1594-1154,. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  13 

show  us.  So  we  must  not,  like  monks  and  old 
women,  invoke  the  finger  of  God  every  time  the  cat 
jumps.  Praise  God,  and  beseech  Him  to  enlighten 
me  in  the  teaching  which  I  shall  give  this  child, 
and,  for  the  rest,  let  us  recline  ourselves  on  His 
holy  Will,  without  seeking  to  understand  Him  in 
everything." 

Then  raising  his  glass  he  drank  a  great  gulp  of 
wine. 

"This  wine  induces  a  soft  and  salutary  heat  in 
the  workings  of  the  human  body,"  said  he.  "It  is 
a  liquor  worthy  of  celebration  at  Teos  and  in  the 
Temple  by  the  princes  of  bacchic  song,  Anacreon 
and  Chaulieu.*  It  must  touch  the  lips  of  my 
youthful  disciple." 

He  put  the  beaker  to  my  chin  and  cried : 

"Come,  O  bees  of  Academe,  and  light  in  har- 
monious swarm  on  the  lips,  henceforth  sacred  to  the 
Muses,  of  Jacobus  Tournebroche." 

But  my  mother  said,  "O  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  it  is 
true  that  wine  will  draw  bees,  more  particularly 
when  it  is  sweet  wine.  But  you  must  not  wish  those 
evil  insects  to  light  on  the  lips  of  my  Jacquot,  for 
their  sting  is  cruel.  One  day  when  biting  into  a 
peach  I  was  stung  on  the  tongue  by  a  bee,  and  I  suf- 
fered the  torments  of  the  damned.  And  nothing 
eased  me  till  brother  Ange  put  in  my  mouth  a  pinch 
of  earth  moistened  with  saliva  while  he  repeated 
the  prayer  to  St.  Cosmas." 

The  Abbe  made  her  understand  that  he  spoke  of 
bees  in  an  allegorical  sense.  And  my  father  said  to 
her  in  a  tone  of  reproach: 

"Barbe,  you  are  a  saintly  and  worthy  woman, 

*  Chaulieu,  Guillaume  de.  Abbe,  poet,  1639—1720,  surnamed 
'TAnacreon  du  Temple." 


i4  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

but  I  have  often  remarked  that  you  have  an  annoy- 
ing fondness  for  plunging  headlong  into  serious 
conversation,  like  a  dog  into  a  bowling-alley." 

"May  be,"  replied  my  mother,  "but  if  you  had 
paid  more  attention  to  my  advice,  Leonard,  you 
would  be  better  off.  I  can't  be  expected  to  know 
all  the  different  kinds  of  bees,  but  I  know  about  the 
conduct  of  a  household,  and  what  is  due  behaviour 
in  a  man  of  certain  age,  who  is  father  of  a  family, 
and  banner-bearer  in  his  confraternity." 

My  father  scratched  his  ear,  and  poured  more 
wine  for  the  Abbe,  who  said,  sighing: 

"Certes,  knowledge  is  no  longer  honoured  in  our 
day,  in  the  kingdom  of  France,  as  it  was  among  the 
Romans  when,  though  fallen  from  their  pristine 
virtues,  rhetoric  raised  Eugenius  *  to  the  purple. 
It  is  no  rare  thing  in  our  time  to  see  an  able  man  in 
a  garret  without  fire  or  light.  Exemplum  ut  talpa. 
I  am  an  example." 

He  then  gave  us  an  account  of  his  life,  which  I 
will  report  to  you  as  it  came  from  his  lips,  saving 
where  in  places  my  tender  years  hindered  me  from 
understanding  it  plainly,  and  consequently  from  re- 
taining it  in  my  memory.  And  I  believe  that  I 
have  been  able  to  fill  up  such  gaps  from  the  con- 
fidences he  made  me  later,  when  he  honoured  me 
with  his  friendship. 

*  Eugenius.  Eugenius  of  Gaul.  Rhetorician,  proclaimed  em- 
peror A.D.  392. 


II 

UCH  as  you  see  me,"  he  said,  "or, 
to  put  it  better,  such  as  you  do  not 
see  me,  young,  lithe,  bright-eyed 
and  black-haired,  I  taught  the  lib- 
eral arts  in  the  college  of  Beauvais 
under  Messieurs  Dugue,  Guerin, 
Coffin,*  and  Baffier.  I  had  taken 
orders,  and  I  thought  to  make  myself  a  great  repu- 
tation in  letters.  But  a  woman  overthrew  my 
hopes.  She  was  one  Nicole  Pigoreau,  and  she  kept 
a  bookshop  at  the  sign  of  the  Bible  d'Or,  on  the 
place  in  front  of  the  college.  I  was  in  the  habit 
of  going  there,  for  ever  turning  over  the  books  she 
received  from  Holland,  and  also  those  bi-pontic  t 
editions  furnished  with  notes,  glosses,  and  learned 
commentaries.  I  was  a  pleasing  youth,  and,  to  my 
misfortune,  Madame  Pigoreau  recognised  it.  She 
had  been  pretty,  and  could  still  attract.  Her  eyes 
could  speak.  One  day  Cicero  and  Titus  Livius, 
Plato,  Aristotle,  Thucydides,  Polybius,  Varro,  Epic- 
tetus,  Seneca,  Boethius,  Cassiodorus,  Homer,  JEs- 
chylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  Plautus,  Terence,  Dio- 
dorus  Siculus,!  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus.||  St. 
John  Chrysostom,  St.  Basil,  St.  Jerome  and  St.  Au- 

*  Coffin,  Charles.     He  succeeded  Rollin  as  principal  of  College 
of  Beauvais,   1676-1749. 

t  Viz.,  published  at  Zweibriicken. 

^Diodorus  Siculus.     Greek   historian   of  Augustan   age. 
II  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus.    Greek  historian,  b.  54  B.  c. 
15 


1 6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

gustine,  Erasmus,  Salmasius,  Turnebus,*  Scaliger,f 
St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  St.  Bonaventure,  Bossuet  with 
Ferri  |  in  his  train,  Lenain,||  Godefroy,§  Mezeray,H 
Maimbourg,**  Fabricius,tt  Father  Lelong,ti  and 
Father  Pitou,l|||  all  the  poets,  all  the  orators,  all  the 
historians,  all  the  fathers,  all  the  doctors,  all  the 
theologians,  all  the  humanists,  all  the  compilers, 
sitting  assembled  on  the  walls  from  ceiling  to  floor, 
witnessed  our  embraces. 

"  'You  are  irresistible/  she  said.  'Do  not  think 
too  badly  of  me.' 

"She  avowed  her  love  in  raptures  inconceivable. 
One  day  she  made  me  try  on  some  bands  and  ruffles 
of  lace,  and  finding  they  suited  me  to  perfection,  she 
begged  me  to  keep  them.  I  did  not  want  to  do  so 
at  all.  But  as  she  seemed  irritated  at  my  refusal, 
wherein  she  saw  a  slight  to  her  love,  I  consented  to 
take  what  she  offered  me  for  fear  of  offending  her. 

"My  happiness  lasted  until  I  was  replaced  by  an 
officer.  I  was  filled  with  anger  and  spite,  and  hot 
for  vengeance,  I  made  it  known  to  the  governors  of 

*  Turnebus,  Adrien  Tournebe,  known  as  Turnebus.  Erudite 
writer  of  the  Renaissance,  b.  at  Les  Andelys,  1512-1565. 

t  Scaliger,  Julius  Caesar.  Author  of  "De  Arte  Poetica," 
1484-1558. 

$  Ferri  (or  Ferry),  Paul.  Protestant  theologian,  b.  Metz,  1591- 
1669. 

II  Lenain,  Pierre.     Religious  writer,  b.  Paris,   1640. 

§Godefroy,  Denys.  (Corpus  Juris  Civilis.)  Lawyer,  1549- 
1621. 

IMezeray,  Francois  de.     Historian,   1610-1683. 

**  Maimbourg,  Pere  Louis.     Jesuit  historian,   1610-1686. 

tt  Fabricius,  Johann  Albrecht.  Protestant  theologian,  1668- 
1736. 

QLelong,  Pere.  Translator  of  a  history  of  Tartary  printed  in 
Paris  1529. 

\\l\Pitou  (or  Pithou),  Pierre.  He  participated  in  the  "Satire 
Menippee,"  a  publication  antagonistic  to  "The  League,"  1539- 
1596. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  17 

the  college  that  I  no  longer  repaired  to  the  Bible 
d'Or  lest  I  should  see  there  sights  likely  to  offend 
the  modesty  of  a  young  cleric.  Truth  to  tell,  I  had 
no  need  to  congratulate  myself  on  this  trick.  For 
Madame  Pigoreau,  hearing  of  my  behaviour  in  re- 
gard to  her,  told  every  one  that  I  had  stolen  from 
her  some  lace  bands  and  ruffles.  Her  false  accusa- 
tion came  to  the  ears  of  the  governors,  who  had  my 
box  searched,  and  there  they  found  the  set,  which 
was  sufficiently  valuable.  They  turned  me  out,  and 
thus  I  learnt,  after  the  fashion  of  Hippolytus  *  and 
Bellerophon,  t  the  wiles  and  wickedness  of  woman. 
Finding  myself  in  the  street,  with  my  clothes  and 
oratorical  text-books,  I  ran  great  risk  of  dying  of 
hunger  there  when,  abandoning  my  clerical  collar, 
I  offered  myself  to  a  Huguenot  gentleman,  who 
took  me  as  secretary,  and  dictated  to  me  his  pam- 
phlets against  religion." 

"Ah !  there  you  did  wrong,"  cried  my  father. 
"That  was  bad,  Monsieur  1'Abbe!  An  honest  man 
should  never  lend  a  hand  to  such  abominations. 
And  for  my  part,  ignorant  as  I  am,  and  a  mere 
workman,  I  cannot  endure  any  taint  of  Colas's 
cow."  | 

"You  are  right,  mine  host,"  replied  the  Abbe. 
"  'Tis  the  worst  passage  in  my  life,  and  the  one  that 
I  repent  the  most.  But  my  man  was  a  Calvinist; 
he  only  employed  me  to  write  against  the  Lutherans 

*  Hippolytus.  Son  of  Theseus,  falsely  accused  by  his  step- 
mother, Phaedra. 

t  Bellerophon.  Falsely  accused  at  the  court  of  Prcetus,  King  of 
Argos,  by  the  Queen,  Antaea. 

$  Colas's  Co<w.  "II  est  de  la  vache  a  Colas"  signified  "he  is  a 
Huguenot."  A  strayed  cow  belonging  to  a  peasant  named  Colas 
was  ill-treated  by  a  Huguenot  neighbour.  From  this  absurd 
squabble  sprang  popular  riots  and  songs  thereon. 


1 8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

and  the  Socinians,*  whom  he  could  not  endure;  and 
I  assure  you  that  he  made  me  treat  these  heretics 
more  hardly  than  the  Sorbonne  has  ever  done." 

"Amen!"  said  my  father.  "Lambs  feed  in 
peace  while  the  wolves  devour  one  another." 

The  Abbe  continued  his  recital: 

"For  the  matter  of  that  I  did  not  remain  long 
with  that  gentleman,  who  set  more  store  on  the 
letters  of  Ulrich  von  Hutten  t  than  on  the  orations 
of  Demosthenes,  and  in  whose  house  one  drank  but 
water.  After  that  I  tried  various  trades,  none  of 
which  succeeded  with  me.  I  was  successively  ped- 
lar, comedian,  monk,  and  varlet.  Then,  donning 
my  bands  again,  I  became  secretary  to  the  bishop  of 
Seez,  and  edited  the  catalogue  of  precious  MSS. 
shut  away  in  his  library.  The  catalogue  forms  two 
volumes,  in  folio,  which  he  has  placed  in  his  collec- 
tion, gilt-edged,  and  bound  in  red  morocco  bearing 
his  arms.  I  venture  to  say  it  is  a  good  piece  of 
work. 

"It  rested  entirely  with  me  whether  I  should 
grow  old  in  the  service  of  Monseigneur  in  study  and 
in  peace.  But  I  loved  a  chambermaid  in  the  stew- 
ard's |  household.  Do  not  be  too  hard  on  me. 
Dark-skinned,  full  of  life,  fresh  and  plump,  St. 
Pachomius  himself  must  have  loved  her.  One 
day  she  took  coach,  and  went  to  seek  her  fortune  in 
Paris.  I  followed  her  there,  but  I  did  not  do  as 
well  for  myself  as  she  did.  On  her  recommenda- 
tion I  entered  the  service  of  Madame  de  St.  Ernest, 

*  Socinians.  The  followers  of  Laelius  Socinus  (Lelio  Sozzini), 
a  celebrated  heresiarch,  whose  teaching  was  anti-trinitarian,  1525- 
1562. 

t  Ulrich  von  Hutten.    Reformer  in  Germany,   1488-1523. 

$  Pachomius.  Anchorite  of  the  4th  century,  the  founder  of  the 
Coenobites  of  Egypt.  For  a  picture  of  their  life  see  Thais  by 
Anatole  France. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  19 

a  dancer  at  the  Opera,  who,  knowing  my  particular 
talent,  ordered  me  to  write,  under  her  prompting, 
a  lampoon  against  Mademoiselle  Davilliers,  against 
whom  she  had  a  grudge.  I  was  a  good  secretary, 
and  well  did  I  merit  the  fifty  ecus  which  had  been 
promised  me.  The  book  was  printed  at  Amster- 
dam by  Marc-Michel  Rey,  with  an  allegorical  fron- 
tispiece, and  Mademoiselle  Davilliers  received  the 
first  copy  at  the  very  moment  when  she  was  going 
on  the  stage  to  sing  the  principal  air  in  Armide. 
Rage  made  her  voice  hoarse  and  uncertain.  She 
sang  out  of  tune,  and  was  hissed.  Her  part  played, 
she  ran  in  her  powder  and  panniers  to  the  stage- 
manager,  who  could  refuse  her  nothing.  She  flung 
herself  at  his  feet  in  tears,  and  cried  for  vengeance. 
It  was  soon  known  that  the  stab  came  from  Ma- 
dame de  St.  Ernest. 

"Questioned,  pressed,  menaced,  she  denounced 
me,  and  I  was  thrown  into  the  Bastille,  where  I  lay 
four  years.  I  found  some  consolation  in  reading 
Boethius  and  Cassiodorus. 

"Since  then  I  have  kept  a  public  writer's  stall  at 
the  cemetery  of  the  Holy  Innocents,  and  have  put 
at  the  disposal  of  amorous  servant-girls  a  pen  which 
should  rather  paint  the  illustrious  men  of  Rome,  or 
annotate  the  writings  of  the  Fathers.  1  make  two 
Hards  for  a  love-letter,  and  it  is  a  trade  by  which  I 
die  rather  than  live.  But  I  do  not  forget  that 
Epictetus  was  a  slave  and  Pyrrho  a  gardener. 

"A  moment  ago,  by  great  luck,  I  got  an  ecu  for 
an  anonymous  letter.  It  was  two  days  since  I  had 
eaten  anything.  So  I  promptly  went  in  search  of 
an  eating-house.  I  saw  from  the  street  your  illumi- 
nated sign,  and  the  fire  of  your  hearth,  which  flick- 
ered joyously  on  the  pane.  I  smelt  a  delicious 


20  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

odour  on  the  threshold.  I  entered.  My  good  host, 
you  know  my  life." 

"I  perceive  it  is  that  of  an  honest  man,"  said 
my  father,  "and  excepting  the  matter  of  Colas's 
cow,  there  is  nothing  much  to  take  amiss.  Your 
hand.  We  are  friends.  What  is  your  name?" 

"Jerome  Coignard,  doctor  of  theology,  and 
bachelor  of  arts." 


Ill 


HE  wonderful  thing  in  human  affairs 
is  the  linking  together  of  effects  and 
causes.  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard 
might  well  say  so :  when  we  come  to 
consider  the  strange  succession  of  in- 
cident and  consequence  wherein  our 
destinies  clash,  we  are  bound  to  rec- 
ognise that  God  in  His  perfection  is  not  wanting  in 
wit  nor  fancy,  nor  in  the  comic  spirit,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  that  He  excels  in  imbroglio  as  in  all  else, 
and  that  after  having  inspired  Moses,  David,  and 
the  Prophets,  He  had  deigned  to  inspire  Monsieur 
Le  Sage  and  the  playwrights  of  the  booth.  He 
could  have  dictated  to  them  some  very  diverting 
harlequinades.  Thus,  for  instance,  I  became  a 
Latinist  because  brother  Ange  was  taken  by  the 
guard  and  put  in  the  ecclesiastical  prison  for  hav- 
ing knocked  down  a  cutler  in  the  arbour  of  the  Petit 
Bacchus.  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  fulfilled  his 
promise.  He  gave  me  lessons,  and  finding  me  doc- 
ile and  intelligent,  he  took  pleasure  in  teaching  me 
ancient  literature.  In  a  few  years  he  made  me 
a  fairly  good  Latinist. 

I  cherish  his  memory  with  a  gratitude  which  will 
only  end  with  my  life.  The  obligation  he  laid  me 
under  may  be  conceived  when  I  say  that  he  left 
nothing  undone  that  might  help  to  shape  my  affec- 
tions and  my  soul  along  with  my  intelligence.  He 
would  repeat  to  me  the  Maxims  of  Epictetus,  the 
Homilies  of  St.  Basil,  and  Boethius, — his  consola- 


22  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

tions.  He  exhibited  to  me,  in  many  a  fine  passage, 
the  philosophy  of  the  Stoics;  but  he  only  displayed 
it  in  its  sublimity  to  abase  it  the  lower  before  the 
philosophy  of  the  Christian.  His  faith  remained 
intact  above  the  ruins  of  his  fondest  illusions  and  of 
his  most  rightful  hopes.  His  weaknesses,  his  mis- 
takes, and  his  faults — and  he  did  not  try  to  conceal 
them  nor  to  lend  them  colouring — had  not  shaken 
his  trust  in  Divine  goodness.  And  to  understand 
him  well  you  must  realise  that  he  had  care  of  his 
eternal  welfare  on  occasions  when  he  seemed  appar- 
ently to  care  the  least  for  it.  He  inculcated  in  me 
principles  of  enlightened  piety.  He  exerted  him- 
self to  apprentice  me  to  virtue — to  make  it,  so  to 
speak,  homely  and  familiar  to  me  by  examples 
drawn  from  the  life  of  Zeno.* 

That  I  might  learn  of  the  dangers  of  vice  he 
drew  his  arguments  from  a  source  nearer  to  hand, 
confiding  to  me  that,  through  having  loved  wine  and 
women  over  much,  he  had  had  to  renounce  the  hon- 
our of  being  raised  to  a  collegiate  chair,  the  long 
robe,  the  doctor's  cap. 

To  these  exceptional  merits  he  joined  a  constancy 
and  an  assiduity,  and  he  gave  his  lessons  with  a 
punctuality  that  one  would  not  have  expected  from 
a  man  given  up,  as  he  was,  to  every  caprice  of  a 
wandering  life,  and  driven  about  incessantly  by  the 
stresses  of  an  existence  less  dignified  than  pica- 
resque. This  zeal  was  the  result  of  his  kind-hearted- 
ness, and  emanated  also  from  the  liking  he  had  for 
our  worthy  street,  the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  where  he 
found  the  wherewithal  to  satisfy  at  once  the  desires 
of  body  and  mind.  Having  given  me  some  profit- 

*Zeno.     Founder  of  the  Stoic  philosophy,  died  B.C.  264. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  23 

able  lesson  while  enjoying  a  succulent  dinner,  he 
would  go  the  round  of  the  Petit  Bacchus  and  of  the 
Image  of  St.  Catherine,  finding  thus  united  in  the 
little  corner  of  earth,  which  was  his  Paradise,  good 
wine  and  books. 

He  had  become  an  assidous  visitor  of  Monsieur 
Blaizot  the  bookseller,  who  always  welcomed  him, 
notwithstanding  that  he  turned  over  all  the  books 
without  ever  buying  one.  And  it  was  a  wonderful 
sight  to  see  my  master  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  his 
nose  poked  into  some  little  books  new  come  from 
Holland,  raising  his  head  to  hold  forth  according 
to  the  occasion  with  the  same  smiling  and  overflow- 
ing knowledge,  whether  concerning  the  plans  for 
universal  monarchy  attributed  to  the  late  king,  or 
the  amorous  adventures  of  a  financier  and  an  ac- 
tress. Monsieur  Blaizot  never  tired  of  listening  to 
him.  This  .Monsieur  Blaizot  was  a  little  dry  old 
man,  neat  in  his  person,  in  maroon  coat  and 
breeches  and  grey  worsted  stockings.  I  admired 
him  immensely,  and  I  could  think  of  nothing  more 
delightful  in  the  world  than  to  sell  books  as  he  did 
at  the  Image  of  St.  Catherine. 

A  certain  memory  helped  to  indue  Monsieur 
Blaizot's  shop  for  me  with  a  mysterious  charm.  It 
was  there  that  when  very  young  I  saw,  for  the  first 
time,  a  woman  unclothed.  I  see  her  still.  It  was 
Eve,  in  a  pictured  Bible.  She  had  a  round  stomach 
and  rather  short  legs,  and  she  was  conversing  with 
the  serpent  in  a  Dutch  landscape.  The  possessor 
of  this  print  inspired  me  thenceforward  with  a  con- 
sideration which  showed  no  falling  off  when,  thanks 
to  Monsieur  Coignard,  I  acquired  the  taste  ftw 
books. 


24  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

By  the  time  I  was  sixteen  I  knew  a  good  deal  of 
Latin  and  a  little  Greek.  Said  my  good  master  to 
my  father: 

"Do  you  not  think,  mine  host,  that  it  is  improper 
that  a  young  Ciceronian  should  still  wear  the 
clothes  of  a  scullion?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  about  it,"  answered  my  father. 

"It  is  very  true,"  said  my  mother,  "our  son 
should  have  a  dimity  coat.  He  is  pleasing  in  his 
appearance,  he  has  good  manners,  and  is  well 
taught.  He  will  do  honour  to  his  clothes." 

My  father  remained  thoughtful  for  a  minute, 
and  then  asked,  would  a  dimity  coat  look  well  on 
a  cook?  But  Abbe  Coignard  represented  to  him 
that,  fostered  by  the  Muses,  I  could  never  become 
a  cook,  and  that  the  time  was  near  when  I  should 
wear  the  clerical  bands. 

My  father  sighed  when  he  thought  that  I  should 
never,  when  he  had  gone,  carry  the  banner  of  the 
Parisian  Confraternity  of  Cooks. 

And  my  mother's  eyes  ran  over  with  pride  and 
joy  at  the  thought  of  her  son  in  the  church. 

The  first  effect  of  my  dimity  coat  was  to  give  me 
self-confidence  and  to  encourage  me  to  get  a  more 
exact  notion  of  women  than  that  given  me  once  on 
a  time  by  Monsieur  Blaizot's  Eve.  I  thought,  not 
unreasonably  for  the  purpose,  of  Jeannette  the  viol- 
player,  and  Catherine  the  lace-maker,  whom  *  saw 
pass  the  cook-shop  twenty  times  a  day,  showing  in 
wet  weather  a  slim  ankle  and  a  little  foot,  whose 
point  skipped  from  paving-stone  to  stone.  Jean- 
nette was  not  as  pretty  as  Catherine,  neither  was  she 
so  young  nor  so  smart  in  her  attire.  She  was  a 
Savoyard,  and  dressed  her  head  en  marmotte  with 
a  checked  kerchief  which  hid  her  hair.  But  it  must 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  25 

be  said  for  her  that  she  put  on  no  airs  and  graces, 
and  understood  what  was  wanted  of  her  even  be- 
fore one  spoke.  This  quality  suited  my  bashful- 
ness  down  to  the  ground.  One  night  in  the  porch 
of  St.  Benoit-le-Betourne,  which  is  furnished  with 
stone  seats,  she  taught  me  what  I  did  not  know  as 
yet,  and  what  she  had  known  for  long  enough. 
But  I  was  not  as  grateful  for  it  as  I  ought  to  have 
been,  and  I  only  longed  to  bring  to  the  service  of 
others  who  were  prettier  the  knowledge  she  had  in- 
stilled into  me.  I  must  say,  as  an  excuse  for  my  in- 
gratitude, that  Jeannette  the  viol-player  put  no 
greater  price  on  her  lessons  than  I  myself  had  paid; 
and  she  was  prodigal  of  her  favours  to  every  scamp 
in  the  neighbourhood. 

Catherine  had  more  reserve  in  her  ways.  I  was 
much  afraid  of  her,  and  did  not  dare  tell  her  how 
pretty  I  thought  her.  What  made  me  doubly  shy 
was  that  she  made  fun  of  me  continually,  and  lost 
no  occasion  to  tease  me.  She  made  game  of  me  on 
account  of  my  smooth  chin.  I  blushed  for  it,  and 
wished  the  earth  would  cover  me.  I  assumed  a 
dark  and  aggrieved  air  when  I  met  her.  I  pre- 
tended to  despise  her,  but  truth  to  tell,  she  was  far 
too  pretty  for  any  such  despite. 


IV 

HAT  night,  the  night  of  the  Epiph- 
any and  the  nineteenth  anniversary 
of  my  birth,  while  the  heavens  shed 
along  with  the  melted  snow  a  re- 
lentless cold  which  pierced  one  to 
the  bone,  and  an  icy  wind  set  the 
sign  of  the  Reine  Pedauque  creak- 
ing, a  clear  fire,  scented  with  goose-fat,  blazed  in 
the  cook-shop,  and  the  soup-bowl  smoked  on  the 
cloth  round  which  were  seated  Monsieur  Jerome 
Coignard,  my  father  and  myself.  My  mother,  as 
her  habit  was,  was  standing  behind  the  master  of 
the  house,  ready  to  serve. 

He  had  already  filled  the  Abbe's  basin  when, 
the  door  opening,  we  saw  brother  Ange,  very  pale, 
his  nose  red  and  his  beard  dripping.  In  his  sur- 
prise my  father  raised  his  soup-ladle  nearly  up  to 
the  smoked  beams  of  the  ceiling. 

My  father's  surprise  was  easily  explained. 
Brother  Ange  who  once  before  had  disappeared  for 
six  months  after  knocking  down  the  lame  cutler, 
had  this  time  stayed  away  two  whole  years  without 
anything  having  been  heard  of  him.  He  had  gone 
away  one  spring  with  a  donkey  laden  with  relics, 
and  the  worst  of  the  matter  was  that  he  had  taken 
Catherine  along  with  him,  dressed  as  a  nun.  It 
was  not  known  what  had  become  of  them,  but  there 
had  been  rumours  at  the  Petit  Bacchus  that  the  lit- 
tle brother  and  the  little  sister  had  come  in  conflict 
with  the  authorities  between  Tours  and  Orleans. 
26 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  27 

Without  counting  that  one  of  the  vicaires  of  St. 
Benoit  declared  with  much  outcry  that  this  gallows- 
thief  of  a  capuchin  had  stolen  his  donkey. 

"What,"  exclaimed  my  father,  "isn't  this  rascal 
in  the  deepest  of  dungeons?  Then  there  is  no 
longer  justice  in  the  kingdom."  But  brother  Ange 
repeated  the  Benedicite  and  made  the  sign  of  the 
Cross  over  the  bowl  of  soup. 

"Hello  there !"  my  father  went  on.  "A  truce 
to  your  grimaces,  my  fine  monk!  And  now  confess 
that  you  have  spent  in  prison  at  least  one  of  the  two 
years  that  haven't  seen  your  Beelzebub's  face  in  the 
parish.  The  Rue  St.  Jacques  was  the  honester  for 
it,  and  the  whole  quarter  more  respectable.  Look 
at  him,  the  shameless  fellow,  who  leads  astray  his 
neighbour's  donkey  and  every  man's  hack!" 

"Perhaps,"  replied  brother  Ange,  his  eyes  down- 
cast and  his  hands  in  his  sleeves,  "perhaps,  Maitre 
Leonard,  you  wish  to  refer  to  Catherine,  whom  I 
had  the  happiness  to  convert  and  to  turn  to  a  better 
life.  So  much  so  that  she  ardently  longed  to  fol- 
low me  along  with  the  relics  that  I  bore,  and  to  ac- 
company me  on  blessed  pilgrimages  to  the  Black 
Virgin  of  Chartres?  I  agreed  on  condition  that  she 
should  don  a  religious  habit.  Which  she  did  with- 
out a  murmur." 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  my  father,  "you  are 
a  deboshed  rogue.  You  have  no  respect  for  your 
cloth.  Go  back  whence  you  came,  and  go  and  look 
if  you  like,  out  in  the  street,  whether  the  Reine 
Pedauque  has  any  chilblains." 

But  my  mother  signed  to  the  brother  to  sit  down 
in  the  chimney  corner,  which  he  quietly  did. 

"We  must  forgive  much  to  capuchins,  for  they 
sin  without  malice,"  said  the  Abbe. 


28  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

My  father  begged  Monsieur  Coignard  to  talk  no 
more  of  the  brood,  for  their  very  name  sent  the 
blood  to  his  head. 

"Maitre  Leonard,"  said  the  Abbe,  "philosophy 
is  conducive  to  clemency.  For  my  part  I  freely  ab- 
solve ragamuffins,  rogues  and  all  wretched  people. 
And  I  bear  no  ill-will  even  to  the  wealthy,  though 
in  their  case  there  is  much  frowardness.  And  if 
you  had  mixed  as  I  have  done  with  people  of  re- 
pute, Maitre  Leonard,  you  would  know  they  are 
worth  no  more  than  others,  and  that  they  are  often 
less  agreeable  to  meet.  When  I  was  with  the 
bishop  of  Seez  I  sat  at  the  third  table,  and  two  at- 
tendants clad  in  black  stood  at  my  elbow:  Con- 
straint and  Ennui." 

"It  must  be  owned,"  said  my  mother,  "that  Mon- 
seigneur's  valets  bore  tiresome  names.  Why  didn't 
they  call  them  Champagne,  Olive,  or  Frontin,*  ac- 
cording to  custom?" 

The  Abbe  continued: 

"It  is  true  that  certain  people  easily  accommo- 
date themselves  to  the  drawbacks  of  living  among 
the  great.  At  the  second  table  of  the  bishop  of 
Seez  sat  a  certain  Canon,  a  very  polite  man,  who  re- 
mained on  a  formal  footing  until  the  day  of  his 
death.  Learning  that  he  was  extremely  ill  Mon- 
seigneur  went  to  see  him  in  his  extremity.  'Alas,' 
said  the  Canon,  'I  ask  pardon  of  your  lordship  for 
unavoidably  dying  in  your  presence.'  'Go  on,  go 
on,  do  not  mind  me,'  replied  Monseigneur  kindly." 

At  this  moment  my  mother  brought  in  the  roast, 
which  she  placed  on  the  table  with  a  gesture  so  im- 
bued with  homely  gravity  that  my  father  was  quite 

*  Frontin.  A  personage  "de  1'ancienne  comedie — valet  ef- 
fronte." 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  29 

moved,   and  cried  out  brusquely,   his  mouth   full: 

"Barbe,  you  are  a  saintly  and  worthy  woman." 

"Madame,"    said   my   good  master,    "is    indeed 

comparable  to  the  virtuous  woman  of  Holy  Writ. 

She  is  a  spouse  such  as  God  loves." 

"Thanks  be  to  God,"  replied  my  mother,  "I  have 
never  failed  in  the  fidelity  I  swore  to  my  husband 
Leonard  Menetrier  and  now  that  the  worst  is  over 
assuredly  I  reckon  on  not  failing  in  it  until  the  hour 
of  my  death.  I  only  wish  that  he  had  been  as 
faithful  to  me  as  I  to  him." 

"Madame,  I  knew  at  first  sight  that  you  were  a 
good  woman,"  the  Abbe  ran  on,  "for  I  feel  in  your 
presence  a  peace  which  is  more  of  Heaven  than 
earth." 

My  mother,  who  was  simple  but  not  foolish,  well 
understood  what  he  meant,  and  answered  that  had 
he  but  known  her  twenty  years  before  he  would 
have  found  her  very  different  from  what  she  had 
become  in  this  cook-shop  where  her  good  looks  had 
been  lost  under  the  fiery  heat  of  the  spit  and  the 
steam  from  the  smoking  bowls.  And  now,  being 
roused,  she  related  how  the  baker  at  Auneau  found 
her  sufficiently  to  his  taste  to  offer  her  cakes  every 
time  she  passed  his  bakehouse.  She  added,  with 
spirit,  that  for  the  matter  of  that  there  is  neither 
maid  nor  woman  so  ugly  but  that  she  can  do  wrong 
if  the  fancy  take  her. 

"The  good  woman  is  right,"  said  my  father;  "I 
remember  when  I  was  apprenticed  at  the  cook-shop 
of  the  Oie  Royale,  near  the  gate  of  St.  Denis,  my 
master,  who  was  in  those  days  banner-bearer  to  the 
confraternity,  as  I  am  now,  saying  to  me :  'I  shall 
never  be  cuckold,  my  wife  is  too  ugly.'  This 
speech  gave  me  the  notion  of  doing  what  he 


30  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

thought  impossible.  I  succeeded  at  the  first  at- 
tempt, one  morning  when  he  was  at  La  Vallee. 
He  spoke  truth:  his  wife  was  very  plain,  but  not 
without  wit,  and  she  was  not  without  gratitude." 

At  this  anecdote  my  mother  lost  her  temper  al- 
together, saying  that  that  was  not  the  kind  of  talk 
a  father  of  a  family  should  indulge  in  with  his  wife 
and  son  should  he  wish  to  keep  their  respect. 
Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  seeing  her  quite  red 
with  anger,  turned  the  conversation  with  adroit 
kindliness,  suddenly  questioning  brother  Ange  who, 
his  hands  in  his  sleeves,  was  sitting  humbly  in  the 
kitchen  corner: 

"Little  brother,"  said  he,  "what  relics  did  you 
and  Catherine  carry  on  the  vicalre's  donkey?  It 
was  your  breeches,  wasn't  it,  you  gave  to  the  devo- 
tees to  kiss,  like  the  Franciscan  in  the  tale  told  by 
Henry  Estienne?"  * 

"Ah,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  replied  brother  Ange 
with  the  air  of  a  martyr  suffering  for  the  truth,  "it 
was  not  my  breeches  but  a  foot  of  St.  Eustatius." 

"I  would  have  sworn  it,  were  swearing  not  a 
sin,"  cried  the  Abbe  waving  a  drumstick.  "These 
capuchins  ferret  you  out  saints  that  good  writers  of 
church  history  know  nothing  of.  Neither  Tille- 
mont  t  nor  Fleury  J  mention  this  St.  Eustatius,  to 
whom  it  was  exceedingly  wrong  to  dedicate  a  church 
in  Paris,  when  there  are  so  many  saints,  acknowl- 
edged by  writers  worthy  of  belief,  who  still  await 
such  an  honour.  The  life  of  this  Eustatius  is  a  tis- 
sue of  ridiculous  fables.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
that  of  St.  Catherine,  who  never  existed  save  in  the 

*  Estienne,    Henri.    Lexicographer,    1531-1598. 

t  Tillemont,  Le  Nain  de.     Historian,  b.  Paris,  1637-1698. 

^.Fleury,   Claude.     Ecclesiastical   historian,    1640-1723. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  31 

imagination  of  some  malicious  Byzantine  monk.  I 
will  not  be  too  severe  upon  her  though,  for  she  is 
the  patron  saint  of  writers  and  serves  for  a  sign  at 
good  Monsieur  Blaizot's  shop,  which  is  the  most 
delectable  spot  in  the  world." 

"I  had  also,"  went  on  the  little  brother  imper- 
turbably,  "a  rib  of  St.  Mary  of  Egypt." 

"Oh!  oh!  as  to  her,"  cried  the  Abbe,  throwing 
his  bone  across  the  room,  "I  rate  her  as  a  great 
saint,  for  in  her  life  she  gave  a  beautiful  example 
of  humility!  You  know,  Madame,"  he  answered, 
pulling  my  mother  by  the  sleeve,  "that  St.  Mary  of 
Egypt  making  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  our  Sav- 
iour was  stopped  by  a  deep  river,  and  not  having  a 
farthing  wherewith  to  pay  the  ferry-boat,  she  of- 
ferred  her  body  in  payment  to  the  boatman.  What 
do  you  say  to  that,  my  good  lady?" 

My  mother  first  asked  whether  the  story  was 
really  true.  When  she  was  assured  that  it  was 
printed  in  books  and  painted  on  a  window  in  the 
church  of  La  Jussienne,  she  held  it  for  true.  "I 
think,"  said  she,  "that  one  would  needs  be  as  great 
a  saint  as  she  to  do  as  much  without  sinning.  As 
for  me,  I  would  not  risk  it."  "For  my  part,"  said 
the  Abbe,  "in  accordance  with  the  more  subtle  theo- 
logians, I  approve  the  conduct  of  this  saint.  She  is 
a  lesson  to  honest  women  who  entrench  themselves 
too  overweeningly  in  the  height  of  their  virtue. 
There  is  a  certain  sensuality  when  one  thinks  about 
it  in  putting  such  a  very  high  price  on  the  flesh,  and 
in  guarding  with  such  exceeding  care  what  one 
ought  to  disdain.  One  sees  matrons  who  think 
they  have  in  themselves  a  treasure  to  protect,  and 
who  visibly  exaggerate  the  interest  taken  in  their 
person  by  God  and  the  angels.  They  believe  them- 


32  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

selves  a  sort  of  natural  Blessed  Sacrament.  St. 
Mary  of  Egypt  knew  better.  Although  pretty  and 
ravishingly  well-made,  she  judged  that  there  would 
be  too  much  pride  of  the  flesh  in  stopping  on  her 
blessed  pilgrimage  for  a  thing  indifferent  in  itself, 
and  which,  far  from  being  a  precious  jewel,  is  but 
an  occasion  for  mortification.  She  suffered  morti- 
fication, Madame,  and  in  this  manner  with  admir- 
able humility  she  entered  on  the  path  of  penitence, 
where  she  accomplished  marvellous  things." 

"Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  said  my  mother,  "I  fail  to 
understand  you.  You  are  too  learned  for  me." 

"This  great  saint,"  said  brother  Ange,  "is  painted 
life-size  in  my  convent  chapel,  and  all  her  body  is 
covered,  by  God's  grace,  with  long,  thick  hair. 
Copies  of  it  are  made,  and  I  will  bring  you  one 
which  has  been  blessed,  my  good  lady." 

My  mother,  touched,  passed  him  the  soup-bowl 
behind  the  master's  back.  And  the  good  brother 
sitting  over  the  ashes,  dipped  his  beard  in  the  sa- 
voury-smelling soup. 

"Now  is  the  time,"  said  my  father,  "to  uncork 
one  of  those  bottles  which  I  hold  in  reserve  for 
great  feast-days  such  as  Christmas,  Twelfth  Night, 
and  the  feast  of  St.  Lawrence;  *  nothing  is  more 
pleasing  than  to  drink  good  wine  when  one  is 
quietly  at  home,  sheltered  from  all  intruders." 

He  had  scarcely  pronounced  these  words  when 
the  door  opened  and  a  big  man  invaded  the  cook- 
shop  in  a  squall  of  wind  and  snow.  "A  Salaman- 
der! a  Salamander!"  he  cried,  and  without  taking 
notice  of  any  one,  he  leant  over  the  hearth  and 

*  Feast  of  St.  Lawrence.  L'eglise  St.  Laurent  in  Paris  had  a 
popular  fete,  but  the  foire  held  against  the  church  walls  was 
still  more  celebrated, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  33 

stirred  the  fire  with  his  stick,  to  the  great  annoyance 
of  brother  Ange  who,  swallowing  cinders  and  smuts 
in  his  soup,  coughed  till  he  nearly  gave  up  the  ghost. 
And  the  big  man  stirred  the  fire  again,  crying 
"A  Salamander! — I  see  a  Salamander!"  till  the 
troubled  flame  made  his  shadow  waver  on  the  ceil- 
ing in  the  shape  of  some  great  bird  of  prey. 

My  father  was  surprised,  nay  even  shocked,  at 
the  ways  of  this  visitor.  But  he  knew  how  to  con- 
trol himself.  He  got  up,  his  napkin  under  his  arm, 
and  approaching  the  chimney-corner  he  bent  over 
the  hearth,  his  hands  on  his  hips. 

When  he  had  sufficiently  considered  his  fire  all 
scattered  and  brother  Ange  covered  with  ash: 

"If  your  lordship  will  pardon  me,"  he  said,  "I 
see  but  a  sinful  monk  and  no  Salamander." 

"And  after  all  I  do  not  regret  it,"  my  father 
added.  "For  from  all  I  have  heard,  it  is  an  ugly 
beast,  hairy  and  horned  and  with  great  claws." 

"What  a  mistake!"  replied  the  dark  man.  "Sal- 
amanders are  like  women,  or  rather,  like  Nymphs, 
for  they  are  of  a  perfect  beauty.  But  it  was  silly 
of  me  to  ask  if  you  could  see  this  one.  One  must 
be  a  philosopher  to  see  a  Salamander  and  I  should 
scarcely  think  that  there  are  any  philosophers  in 
this  kitchen." 

"Possibly  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  Coignard.  "I  am  a  doctor  of  theology  and 
master  of  arts;  I  have  studied  to  some  extent  the 
Greek  and  Latin  moralists,  whose  maxims  have  for- 
tified my  soul  in  the  vicissitudes  of  my  life,  and  par- 
ticularly have  I  applied  Boethius  as  a  local  applica- 
tion for  the  evils  of  existence.  And  behold  by  my 
side  Jacobus  Tournebroche,  my  pupil,  who  knows 
by  heart  the  Aphorisms  of  Publius  Syrus." 


34  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

The  unknown  turned  on  the  Abbe  his  yellow  eyes, 
which  shone  strangely  over  his  eagle  nose,  and  ex- 
cused himself  with  more  politeness  than  his  fierce 
looks  gave  promise  of,  not  having  immediately  rec- 
ognised a  person  of  his  merit. 

"It  is  extremely  probable,"  he  added,  "that  this 
Salamander  has  come  for  you  or  for  your  pupil.  I 
saw  her  very  plainly  from  the  street,  when  passing 
the  shop.  She  would  have  been  more  apparent  if 
the  fire  had  been  brighter.  That  is  why  one  should 
stir  the  fire  vigorously  when  one  thinks  there  is  a 
Salamander  in  the  chimney." 

At  the  first  movement  that  the  unknown  made  to 
stir  the  coals,  brother  Ange,  in  his  anxiety,  covered 
his  soup  with  a  corner  of  his  robe  and  shut  his  eyes. 

"Monsieur,"  pursued  the  Salamander-seeking 
gentleman,  "allow  your  pupil  to  approach  the 
hearth,  and  tell  us  if  he  cannot  see  some  resem- 
blance to  a  woman  above  the  flames." 

Just  then,  the  smoke  which  went  up  under  the 
hood  of  the  chimney  curled  into  a  marked  grace, 
making  curves  which  might  have  been  said  to  simu- 
late a  sinuous  body  had  one's  attention  been  on 
the  strain.  I  was  not  altogether  fibbing  therefore 
when  I  said  that  I  could,  perhaps,  see  something. 

I  had  scarcely  said  so  when  the  unknown,  raising 
his  abnormally  long  arm,  struck  me  on  the  shoulder 
so  roughly  with  his  fist  that  I  thought  he  must  have 
broken  my  collar-bone. 

Thereon,  in  a  very  gentle  voice,  he  said,  looking 
in  the  meanwhile  with  a  benevolent  air:  "My 
child,  it  was  necessary  to  make  this  strong  impres- 
sion on  you  that  you  may  never  forget  that  you 
have  seen  a  Salamander.  'Tis  a  sign  that  you  are 
destined  to  become  a  learned  man,  perhaps  a  Mage. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  35 

Your  face,  moreover,  augurs  well  for  your  intelli- 
gence," 

"Monsieur,"  said  my  mother,  "he  has  all  the 
learning  that  he  wishes,  and  please  God  he  will  yet 
be  an  Abbe." 

Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  added  that  I  had 
drawn  some  profit  from  his  lessons,  and  my  father 
asked  the  stranger  if  he  would  not  have  something 
to  eat. 

"I  have  no  need  to  eat,"  said  the  man,  "and  it 
is  easy  for  me  to  go  for  a  year  and  even  more  with- 
out food,  with  the  exception  of  a  certain  elixir, 
whose  composition  is  known  only  to  the  philoso- 
phers. This  faculty  is  not  peculiar  to  me.  It  is 
common  to  all  the  elect,  and  we  know  that  the  illus- 
trious Cardan  abstained  from  all  food  for  several 
years  without  being  inconvenienced.  On  the  con- 
trary, his  mind  gained  during  that  time  a  rare 
sharpness.  At  the  same  time  I  will  eat  of  what 
you  may  offer  me  solely  to  do  you  pleasure." 

And  he  took  a  seat  without  ceremony  at  our  ta- 
ble. At  the  same  time  brother  Ange  silently 
pushed  a  stool  between  my  chair  and  my  master's, 
and  slipped  into  position  to  receive  his  share  of  the 
pasty  of  partridges  that  my  mother  had  just  served 
up. 

The  philosopher,  having  thrown  his  cloak  over 
the  back  of  his  chair,  allowed  us  to  remark  the  dia- 
mond buttons  in  his  coat.  He  sat  there  dreamily. 
The  shadow  of  his  nose  shaded  his  mouth,  and  his 
fallen  cheeks  sank  into  his  jaw.  His  gloomy  mood 
affected  us  all. 

My  good  master  himself  drank  in  silence.  The 
only  sound  one  heard  was  the  little  brother  chewing 
his  pasty. 


36  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

Suddenly  the  philosopher  said: 

"The  more  I  think  of  it  the  more  persuaded  I 
am  that  this  Salamander  came  for  this  young  man." 

And  he  pointed  at  me  with  his  knife. 

"Monsieur,"  I  answered  him,  "if  Salamanders 
are  half  such  as  you  say,  this  one  does  me  great 
honour,  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  her.  But  truth 
to  tell,  I  rather  guessed  at  her  than  saw  her,  and 
this  first  meeting  has  roused  my  curiosity  without 
satisfying  it." 

My  good  master  was  choking  with  the  desire  to 
speak  his  mind. 

"Monsieur,"  he  burst  out  all  at  once  to  the  phil- 
osopher, "I  am  fifty-one  years  of  age;  I  am  bache- 
lor of  arts  and  doctor  of  theology;  I  have  read  all 
the  Greek  and  Latin  authors  who  have  survived  the 
injury  done  by  time  and  the  evil  done  by  man,  and 
I  have  never  seen  a  Salamander,  whence  I  reason- 
ably conclude  that  no  such  thing  exists." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  brother  Ange,  half-choked 
with  partridge  and  with  fright.  "Excuse  me.  But 
unhappily  Salamanders  do  exist.  And  a  Jesuit  fa- 
ther, whose  name  I  forget,  has  written  a  treatise  on 
these  apparitions.  I  myself  saw,  in  a  place  called 
St.  Claude,  in  the  house  of  some  villagers,  a  Sala- 
mander in  a  chimney-corner,  right  up  against  the 
stew-pot.  She  had  a  cat's  head,  a  frog's  body,  and 
a  fish  tail.  I  threw  a  potful  of  holy  water  over  the 
beast  and  she  immediately  vanished  into  thin  air 
with  a  fearful  frizzling  noise,  and  in  the  midst  of 
an  exceedingly  acrid  smoke  which  all  but  burnt  my 
eyes  out.  And  what  I  tell  you  is  so  true  that  for 
at  least  a  whole  week  my  beard  smelt  of  burning, 
which  proves  more  than  all  the  rest  the  malign  na- 
ture of  this  beast." 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  37 

"You  are  making  fun  of  us,  little  brother,"  said 
the  Abbe,  "your  frog  with  a  cat's  head  is  no  more 
real  than  the  nymph  of  this  gentleman  here.  And 
moreover,  it  is  a  disgusting  invention." 

The  philosopher  began  to  laugh. 

Brother  Ange  had  not  been  allowed,  said  he,  to 
see  the  Salamanders  as  known  to  the  wise,  "When 
the  nymphs  of  the  fire  see  capuchins  they  turn  their 
backs  on  them." 

"Oh!  Oh!"  said  my  father  laughing  loudly,  "a 
nymph's  back  is  too  good  for  a  capuchin." 

And  as  he  was  in  a  good  temper  he  passed  a  huge 
slice  of  pasty  to  the  little  brother. 

My  mother  placed  the  roast  in  the  middle  of  the 
table  and  took  the  opportunity  of  asking  whether 
the  Salamanders  were  good  Christians,  which  she 
much  doubted,  having  never  heard  that  those  who 
dwelt  in  fire  praised  the  Lord. 

"Madame,"  replied  the  Abbe,  "many  theologians 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus  have  acknowledged  the  ex- 
istence of  a  whole  race  of  incubi  and  succubi,  who 
are  not  demons  properly  speaking  because  they  do 
not  allow  themselves  to  be  put  to  rout  by  a  sprin- 
kling of  holy  water,  and  who  do  not  belong  to  the 
church  triumphant,  for  spirits  of  glory  would  never 
have  tried  to  seduce  a  baker's  wife,  as  happened  at 
Perouse.  But  if  you  want  my  opinion,  these  are 
rather  the  unclean  imaginings  of  a  canting  humbug 
than  the  views  of  a  divine.  We  should  abhor  these 
ridiculous  bedevilments  and  deplore  that  sons  of  the 
Church,  born  in  the  light,  should  form  a  less  sub- 
lime idea  of  the  world  and  of  God  than  did  a  Plato 
or  a  Cicero  in  the  shades  of  paganism.  God,  I 
venture  to  say,  is  more  present  in  the  Thoughts  of 
Scipio  than  in  those  dark  treatises  on  demonology, 


38  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

whose  authors  pronounce  themselves  to  be  Chris- 
tians and  Catholics." 

"Monsieur  1'Abbe,  mind  what  you  say,"  said  the 
philosopher.  "Your  Cicero  spoke  fluently  and  eas- 
ily, but  his  was  a  commonplace  mind,  and  he  was 
not  far  advanced  in  the  sacred  sciences.  Have  you 
ever  heard  speak  of  Hermes  Trismegistus  *  and 
the  Emerald  Table  ?"t 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Abbe,  "I  found  a  very  an- 
cient manuscript  of  'The  Emerald  Table'  in  the  li- 
brary of  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Seez,  and  I  would  have 
deciphered  it  sooner  or  later  had  not  the  chamber- 
maid in  the  steward's  household  fled  to  Paris  to 
seek  her  fortune  and  made  me  climb  into  the  coach 
with  her.  There  was  no  sorcery  in  that,  Master 
philosopher,  and  the  charms  that  worked  upon  her 
were  those  of  nature : 

Non  facit  hoc  verbis:  facie  tenertsque  lacertis 
Devovet  et  flavis  nostra  puella  comis" 

"It  is  one  more  proof,"  said  the  philosopher, 
"that  women  are  great  enemies  of  knowledge,  and 
so  the  wise  man  should  keep  himself  from  all  deal- 
ings with  them." 

"Even  in  lawful  marriage?"  asked  my  father. 

"Above  all  in  lawful  marriage,"  replied  the  phil- 
osopher. 

"Alas,  what  is  left  for  your  poor  wise  man  when 
he  is  disposed  to  relax  a  little?"  asked  my  father. 

The  philosopher  replied: 

"The  Salamanders  are  left  to  them." 

*  Hermes  Trismegistus.  Priest  and  philosopher  of  Egypt — 
instructed  in  theology,  medicine,  geography,  hieroglyphics. 

t  Table  a'Emeraude.  The  Tabula  Smasagdina — work  of  Her- 
mes Trismegistus. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  39 

At  these  words  brother  Ange  raised  a  terrified 
nose  above  his  plate. 

"Do  not  speak  thus,  my  good  Monsieur,"  he 
murmured,  "in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  of  my  or- 
der, do  not  say  such  things!  And  do  not  lose 
sight  of  the  fact  that  a  Salamander  is  no  other  than 
the  devil,  who,  as  one  knows,  clothes  himself  in  di- 
vers forms,  sometimes  pleasing,  when  he  succeeds 
in  disguising  his  natural  ugliness,  at  other  times  hid- 
eous, when  he  lets  his  true  nature  be  seen." 

"It  is  for  you  to  mind  what  you  say,  brother 
Ange,"  replied  the  philosopher,  "and  since  you  fear 
the  devil,  do  not  anger  him  too  much  nor  excite 
him  by  ill-considered  speeches.  You  know  that  the 
Old  Enemy,  the  Spirit  that  denies,  still  holds  such 
power  in  the  spiritual  world 'that  even  God  must 
reckon  with  him.  I  will  go  further:  that  God, 
Who  fears  him,  has  made  him  His  steward.  Be- 
ware, little  brother,  beware!  They  understand 
one  another!" 

On  hearing  this  speech,  the  poor  capuchin 
thought  he  heard  and  saw  the  devil  in  person, 
whom  the  unknown  precisely  resembled,  with  his 
fiery  eyes,  his  hooked  nose,  his  dark  skin,  and  the 
whole  of  his  long  thin  person. 

His  wits,  already  confounded,  were  finally  over- 
whelmed by  pious  terror.  Feeling  himself  in  the 
grip  of  the  Evil  One,  he  began  to  tremble  in  every 
limb,  slipped  into  his  pocket  all  the  good  scraps  he 
could  collect,  got  up  very  quietly  and  made  for  the 
door,  moving  backwards,  and  murmuring  exor- 
cisms. 

The  philosopher  took  no  notice  of  him.  He 
pulled  from  his  coat  a  little  dogs'  eared  parchment 
covered  book,  which  he  held  out  open  to  my  good 


40  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

master  and  me.  It  was  an  old  Greek  text,  full  of 
abbreviations  and  linked  letters,  which  at  first  sight 
looked  to  me  like  a  volume  of  Grammary.  But 
Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard,  once  he  had  donned  his 
spectacles  and  held  out  the  book  at  a  just  distance, 
began  to  read  easily,  characters,  more  like  skeins  of 
thread  tangled  by  cat's  claws,  than  the  plain  and 
steady  lettering  of  my  St.  John  Chrysostom,  where 
I  learnt  the  tongue  of  Plato  and  the  Gospel. 
When  he  had  finished  his  reading: 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "this  passage  is  to  be  un- 
derstood in  this  way: 

"  'Among  the  Egyptians,  the  instructed  learn  first 
of  all  the  letters  which  are  called  epistolographic; 
secondly,  the  hieratic,  which  the  hierogrammats  use, 
and  lastly,  the  hieroglyphic.'  " 

Then,  pulling  off  his  spectacles  and  waving  them 
with  an  air  of  triumph: 

"Ha!  ha!  Master  philosopher,"  he  added,  "you 
don't  catch  me  tripping.  This  is  taken  from  the 
first  book  of  the  Stromata,  whose  author,  Clement 
of  Alexandria,*  is  not  inscribed  in  the  martyrology, 
for  divers  reasons,  learnedly  set  forth  by  His  Holi- 
ness Benedict  II,  the  principal  of  which  is  that  this 
father  frequently  erred  in  matters  of  faith.  This 
exclusion  should  not  trouble  him  much,  if  you  con- 
sider with  what  philosophic  detachment  he  regarded 
martyrdom  during  his  life.  He  preferred  exile, 
and  took  care  to  spare  the  crime  to  his  persecutors, 
for  he  was  a  very  good  man.  He  wrote  with  ele- 
gance, had  a  lively  talent,  his  morals  were  unim- 

*  Clement  of  Alexandria.     Doctor  and  saint,  3rd  century. 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  41 

peachable,  and  even  austere.  He  had  an  excessive 
fondness  for  allegories  and  for  salads." 

The  philosopher  stretched  an  arm,  which  elonga- 
ting itself  prodigiously,  at  least  to  me  it  seemed  so, 
crossed  the  whole  length  of  the  table,  to  recover 
the  book  from  the  hands  of  my  learned  master. 

"Enough,"  said  he,  replacing  the  Stromata  in  his 
pocket.  "I  see  that  you  understand  Greek.  You 
have  rendered  the  passage  well  enough,  at  any  rate, 
in  its  vulgar  and  literal  sense.  I  will  make  your 
fortune  and  that  of  your  pupil.  I  shall  employ  you 
both  in  my  house  in  translating  Greek  texts  sent  to 
me  from  Egypt." 

And  turning  to  my  father : 

"I  imagine,  mine  host,  that  you  will  consent  to 
let  me  have  your  son  that  I  may  make  a  learned 
man  and  a  man  of  substance  of  him.  If  it  is  too 
much  to  ask  of  your  paternal  affection  to  give  him 
up  altogether,  I  will  maintain  at  my  expense  a  scul- 
lion to  take  his  place  in  your  cook-shop." 

"Since  your  Excellency  thus  arranges  it,"  replied 
my  father,  "I  will  not  stand  in  the  way  of  his  bene- 
fiting my  son." 

"On  the  condition,"  said  my  mother,  "that  it 
shall  not  be  at  the  cost  of  his  soul?  You  must 
promise  me,  Monsieur,  that  you  are  a  good  Chris- 
tian?" 

"Barbe,"  said  my  father,  "you  are  a  saintly  and 
worthy  woman,  but  you  force  me  to  make  excuses 
to  his  lordship  for  your  want  of  manners,  which 
comes  less,  truth  to  tell,  from  your  disposition, 
which  is  good  enough,  than  from  your  neglected 
education." 

"Let  the  good  woman  speak,"  said  the  philoso- 


42  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

pher,  "and  let  her  make  her  mind  easy,  I  am  a  very 
religious  man." 

"That  is  a  good  thing,"  said  my  mother.  "We 
must  worship  the  holy  Name  of  God." 

"I  worship  all  His  Names,  my  good  woman, 
for  He  has  many.  He  is  called  Adonai,  Tetra- 
grammaton,  Jehovah,  Otheos,  Athanatas,  and  Schy- 
ros,  and  many  others." 

"I  don'-t  know  anything  about  it,"  said  my 
mother,  "but  I  am  not  surprised  at  what  you  tell 
me,  Monsieur,  for  I  have  noticed  that  people  of 
quality  have  many  more  names  than  common  peo- 
ple. I  come  from  Auneau,  near  the  town  of  Char- 
tres,  and  I  was  quite  small  when  the  lord  of  the 
manor  passed  from  this  world  to  the  next;  now  I 
well  remember  how  when  the  herald  cried  the  death 
of  the  deceased  lord  he  gave  him  nearly  as  many 
names  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  litany  of  saints.  I 
readily  believe  that  God  has  more  names  than  had 
my  lord  of  Auneau,  because  He  has  a  still  higher 
position.  Educated  people  are  very  lucky  to  know 
them  all.  And  if  you  help  my  son  Jacques  to  ad- 
vance in  this  knowledge  I  shall  be  very  much 
obliged  to  you,  Monsieur." 

"Then  that  matter  is  settled,"  said  the  philoso- 
pher. "And  as  to  you,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  you  will 
not  be  averse  from  translating  from  the  Greek — 
in  consideration  of  a  salary,  be  it  understood." 

My  good  master,  who  for  some  moments  past 
had  beeen  trying  to  collect  those  few  wits  which 
were  not  already  hopelessly  bemused  with  the  fumes 
of  wine,  filled  his  goblet,  rose  up,  and  said: 

"Master  philosopher,  with  my  whole  heart  I  ac- 
cept your  generous  offer.  You  are  a  magnificent 
being.  I  am  honoured,  Monsieur,  to  be  in  your 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  43 

service.  Of  furniture,  there  are  two  pieces  I  hold 
high  in  esteem,  the  bed  and  the  board.  The  board, 
which  laden,  turn  by  turn  about,  with  learned  books 
and  succulent  dishes,  serves  to  support  the  nourish- 
ment of  body  and  mind;  the  bed,  propitious  to  the 
sweets  of  repose  as  to  the  torments  of  love.  It 
was  surely  an  inspired  man  who  gave  to  the  Sons 
of  Deucalion  *  the  bed  and  the  board.  If  I  find  at 
your  house,  Monsieur,  these  two  precious  pieces  of 
furniture,  I  will  sound  your  name,  as  that  of  my 
benefactor,  in  eternal  praise,  and  I  will  celebrate 
you  in  Greek  and  Latin  verse  of  divers  metres." 

Thus  he  spoke,  and  drank  a  great  gulp  of  wine. 

"That  is  well  said,"  replied  the  philosopher.  "I 
shall  expect  you  both  to-morrow  morning  at  my 
house.  You  must  follow  the  route  to  St.  Germain 
as  far  as  the  Cross  of  Les  Sablons.  From  the  foot 
of  this  Cross  reckon  a  hundred  paces  going  west 
and  you  will  find  a  small  green  door  in  a  garden 
wall.  Raise  the  knocker,  which  is  in  the  shape  of 
a  veiled  figure,  its  finger  on  its  lips.  You  must  ask 
the  old  man  who  opens  the  door  for  Monsieur 
d'Astarac." 

"My  son,"  said  my  good  master,  pulling  me  by 
the  sleeve,  "keep  all  this  in  your  memory.  Cross, 
knocker,  and  all  the  rest,  so  that  we  may  be  able 
to-morrow  to  find  this  gate  of  fortune.  And  you, 
Monsieur  Maecenas  .  .  ." 

But  the  philosopher  had  already  disappeared 
without  any  one  having  seen  him  go. 

*  Deucalion.    Son   of  Prometheus.     Deucalion   and  Pyrrha  were 
parents  of  the  human  race. 


HE  next  day  we  fared  early,  my  mas- 
ter and  I,  along  the  road  to  St.  Ger- 
main. The  snow  which  covered  the 
ground  under  the  reddish  light  from 
the  sky,  made  the  atmosphere  dead 
and  still.  The  road  was  deserted. 
We  walked  in  great  cart-ruts  be- 
tween the  walls  of  market-gardens,  tumble-down 
palings,  and  low  houses  whose  windows  watched  us 
with  suspicious  eye.  Then,  having  left  behind  us 
two  or  three  broken-down  hovels  of  wattle  and 
daub,  we  saw  in  the  midst  of  a  desolate  common,  the 
Cross  of  Les  Sablons.  Fifty  paces  beyond  was  the 
beginning  of  an  immense  park  enclosed  by  a  ruined 
wall.  This  wall  was  pierced  by  a  small  green  door 
whose  knocker  was  in  the  shape  of  a  horrible 
face,  its  finger  on  its  lips.  We  readily  recognised 
it  for  that  which  the  philosopher  had  described  to 
us,  and  lifted  it  and  knocked. 

After  a  considerable  time,  an  old  serving-man 
came  and  let  us  in  and  signed  to  us  to  follow  him 
across  a  deserted  park.  Statues  of  nymphs,  which 
had  witnessed  the  youth  of  the  late  king,  hid  under 
the  ivy  their  melancholy  and  their  scars.  At  the 
end  of  the  alley  whose  ditches  were  masked  with 
snow,  rose  a  mansion  of  brick  and  stone,  which  was 
as  gloomy  as  the  chateau  of  Madrid,  its  neighbour, 
and  which  topped  by  a  roof  of  slate,  all  awry, 
seemed  the  very  castle  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty. 
While  we  followed  the  steps  of  the  uncommuni- 

44 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  45 

cative  serving-man,  the  Abbe  said  in  my  ear: 
"I  confess  to  you,  my  son,  that  the  dwelling  does 
not  smile  upon  the  view.  It  bears  witness  to  the 
rude  condition  of  French  manners  still  inveterate 
at  the  time  of  Henry  IV  and  it  induces  depression 
and  even  melancholy  in  the  mind  by  the  state  of  neg- 
lect into  which  it  has  been  allowed  to  lapse. 
How  far  sweeter  would  it  be  to  mount  the  enchant- 
ing slopes  of  Tusculum,  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
Cicero  discourse  on  virtue  under  the  pines  and  tere- 
binths of  his  villa,  dear  to  philosophers.  And  have 
you  not  noticed,  my  son,  that  we  did  not  pass  a 
single  inn  or  hostelry  of  any  sort  on  the  road  and 
that  it  is  necessary  to  cross  the  bridge  and  climb  the 
hill  as  far  as  the  crossing  of  the  avenues  of  Ber- 
geres,  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine?  It  is  true  that 
there  is  the  inn  at  the  sign  of  the  Cheval  Rouge 
where  I  remember  Madame  de  St.  Ernest  taking  me 
once  to  dine,  along  with  her  monkey  and  her  lover. 
You  cannot  imagine,  Tournebroche,  what  good 
cheer  is  to  be  had  there.  The  Cheval  Rouge  is  as 
renowned  for  its  lunches  as  for  the  number  of  its 
horses  and  its  posting  facilities.  I  assured  myself 
of  that  while  pursuing  into  the  stables  a  certain  ser- 
ving-wench who  seemed  to  me  to  be  pretty.  But 
she  was  not  so;  one  might  more  justly  have  called 
her  ugly.  I  lent  her  the  illumination  of  my  amor- 
ous fancy.  Such  is  the  state  of  men  given  over  to 
themselves :  piteous  are  their  mistakes.  We  are 
abused  by  vain  images,  we  follow  dreams,  and  we 
embrace  shadows.  In  God  alone  is  truth  and 
steadfastness." 

Meanwhile,     following     the     old     servant,     we 
climbed  the  disjointed  steps  of  the  old  terrace. 
"Alas,"  said  the  Abbe  in  my  ear,  "I  begin  to  re- 


46  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

grct  your  good  father's  cook-shop,  where  we  ate 
many  a  choice  morsel,  expounding  Quintilian  the 
while." 

Having  scaled  the  first  flight  of  a  large  stone 
staircase  we  were  ushered  into  a  room  where  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  was  busy  writing  near  a  big  fire,  sur- 
rounded by  Egyptian  coffins  of  human  form,  ranged 
against  the  wall,  their  cases  painted  with  sacred  em- 
blems, and  their  faces  in  gold,  with  long  shining 
eyes. 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  invited  us  politely  to  sit 
down,  and  said: 

"Messieurs,  I  was  expecting  you,  and  since  you 
are  both  good  enough  to  render  me  the  favour  of 
your  services  I  beg  you  to  consider  this  house  as 
yours.  You  will  be  occupied  here  in  translating 
Greek  texts  which  I  have  brought  back  from 
Egypt.  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  put  all 
your  zeal  into  the  accomplishment  of  this  labour, 
when  you  learn  that  it  concerns  the  work  I  have 
undertaken,  which  is  to  rediscover  the  lost  knowl- 
edge whereby  man  shall  be  re-established  in  his 
original  authority  over  the  elements.  Though  I 
have  no  intention  to-day  of  lifting  from  your  eyes 
the  veil  of  nature  and  of  showing  you  Isis  in  all  her 
dazzling  nudity,  I  will  confide  to  you  the  object  of 
my  studies  without  fear  that  you  should  betray  the 
mystery,  for  I  rely  on  your  probity,  and  also  on  the 
power  that  I  have  of  divining  and  of  preventing 
anything  that  may  be  attempted  against  me,  and  of 
disposing  of  terrible  and  secret  forces  to  avenge 
myself.  In  default  of  a  fidelity  which  I  do  not 
question,  my  powers,  Messieurs,  assure  me  of  your 
silence,  and  I  risk  nothing  in  exposing  myself  to 
you.  You  must  know  that  man  came  from  the 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  47 

hands  of  Jehovah  perfect  in  the  knowledge  he  has 
since  lost.  At  his  birth  he  had  great  power  and 
great  wisdom.  One  sees  it  in  the  book  of  Moses. 
Yet  it  is  needful  to  understand  it.  First  of  all,  it 
is  clear  that  Jehovah  is  not  God,  but  a  mighty 
Demon,  for  he  created  the  world.  The  idea  of  a 
God  at  one  and  the  same  time  a  creator  and  perfect 
is  but  a  barbarous  fancy,  a  barbarism  fit  for  a  Celt 
or  a  Saxon.  One  cannot  admit,  however  little 
one's  intelligence  may  be  formed,  that  a  perfect  be- 
ing can  add  anything  whatever  to  his  perfection, 
were  it  but  a  hazel-nut.  That  stands  to  reason. 
God  can  have  no  conception.  For,  being  infinite 
what  can  He  well  conceive?  He  does  not  create, 
for  He  is  beyond  time  and  space,  conditions  neces- 
sary to  any  construction.  Moses  was  too  good  a 
philosopher  to  teach  that  the  world  was  created  by 
God.  He  knew  Jehovah  for  what  he  is  in  reality, 
namely  for  a  mighty  Demon,  and,  to  give  him  the 
name,  for  a  Demiurge.  Now,  when  Jehovah  cre- 
ated man,  he  gave  him  the  knowledge  of  the  visible 
and  invisible  worlds.  The  fall  of  Adam  and  Eve, 
which  I  will  one  day  explain  to  you,  did  not  alto- 
gether destroy  this  knowledge  in  the  first  man  and 
the  first  woman,  whose  enlightenment  descended  to 
their  children.  These  doctrines,  on  which  lord- 
ship over  nature  depends,  were  transcribed  in  the 
book  of  Enoch.  The  Egyptian  priests  kept  the  tra- 
dition, which  they  fixed  in  mysterious  signs  on  the 
walls  of  temples  and  on  the  coffins  of  the  dead. 
Moses,  brought  up  in  the  sanctuary  of  Memphis, 
was  one  of  the  initiated.  His  books,  to  the  num- 
ber of  five  or  even  six,  enclose  like  so  many  precious 
arks,  the  treasures  of  divine  knowledge.  One  finds 
in  them  the  noblest  of  secrets,  if  after  having 


48  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

purged  them  of  unworthy  interpolations  one  is  care- 
ful to  disdain  the  gross  and  literal  meaning,  to  fol- 
low but  the  more  subtle,  which  I  have  in  great 
measure  penetrated  to,  as  will  be  made  plain  to 
you  later  on.  However  the  truths  whose  virginity 
was  guarded  in  the  temples  of  Egypt  passed  to  the 
sages  of  Alexandria,  who  added  further  to  them, 
and  crowned  them  with  all  the  pure  gold  left  as  a 
legacy  to  Greece  by  Pythagoras  and  his  disciples, 
with  whom  the  powers  of  air  held  familiar  con- 
verse. Therefore,  Messieurs,  we  must  explore  the 
books  of  the  Hebrews,  the  hieroglyphics  of  the 
Egyptians,  and  the  treatises  of  those  Greeks  whom 
they  call  gnostics,  because  they  had  knowledge. 
For  myself,  as  is  only  just,  I  have  reserved  the 
most  arduous  part  of  this  great  labour.  I  devote 
myself  to  deciphering  the  hieroglyphics  that  the 
Egyptians  inscribed  in  the  temples  of  their  gods  and 
on  the  tombs  of  the  priests.  Having  brought  back 
from  Egypt  many  of  these  inscriptions,  I  am  get- 
ting at  their  meaning  with  the  help  of  the  key  that 
I  have  been  able  to  find  in  the  writing  of  Clement 
of  Alexandria. 

"The  Rabbi  MosaTde,  who  lives  a  retired  life  un- 
der my  roof,  labours  to  re-establish  the  true  mean- 
ing of  the  Pentateuch.  He  is  an  elder,  and  very 
learned  in  magic,  who  lived  for  seventeen  years  shut 
in  the  crypts  of  the  great  Pyramid,  where  he  read 
the  works  of  Thoth.  As  for  you,  Messieurs,  I 
count  on  employing  your  knowledge  to  read  the 
Alexandrine  manuscripts  which  I  have  myself  col- 
lected in  large  numbers.  Doubtless  you  will  find 
marvellous  secrets  in  them,  and  I  have  no  fear  but 
that  with  the  help  of  these  three  sources  of  enlight- 
enment, the  Egyptian,  the  Hebraic,  and  the  Greek, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  49 

I  shall  soon  arrive  at  possession  of  the  means  still 
lacking  to  me  of  ruling  absolutely  over  nature  both 
visible  and  invisible. 

"Rest  assured  that  I  shall  acknowledge  your  ser- 
vices by  allowing  you  to  participate  to  some  ex- 
tent in  my  powers. 

"I  do  not  speak  to  you  of  a  more  vulgar  method 
of  acknowledgment.  At  the  point  I  have  reached 
in  my  philosophic  work  money  is  but  a  mere  trifle." 

When  Monsieur  d'Astarac  got  to  this  point  of 
his  speech,  my  good  master  interrupted  him: 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  will  not  conceal  from 
you  that  this  money,  which  seems  but  a  trifle  to  you, 
is  for  me  a  burning  anxiety,  for  I  have  experienced 
that  it  is  not  easy  to  gain  it  honestly  or  even  other- 
wise. I  shall  therefore  be  grateful  for  any  assur- 
ance you  may  give  me  on  this  subject." 

Monsieur  d'Astarac,  with  a  gesture  which 
seemed  to  sweep  aside  some  invisible  object,  reas- 
sured Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard.  As  for  me, 
curious  of  all  I  saw,  I  only  wished  to  begin  my 
new  life. 

At  his  master's  call,  the  old  serving-man  who 
had  opened  the  door,  appeared  in  the  study. 

"Messieurs,"  continued  our  host,  "I  give  you 
your  liberty  until  the  mid-day  meal.  I  shall  be 
much  obliged  to  you,  however,  if  you  will  go  and 
see  the  rooms  prepared  for  you  upstairs,  and  tell 
me  if  anything  be  wanting.  Criton  will  show  you 
the  way." 

After  having  made  sure  that  we  were  following 
him,  the  silent  Criton  left  the  room  and  began  to 
mount  the  stairs.  He  climbed  to  the  very  top. 
Then  going  a  few  steps  down  a  long  corridor,  he 
showed  us  two  very  neat  rooms  where  a  good  fire 


50  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

was  burning.  I  should  never  have  believed  that  a 
house  outwardly  in  such  a  ruined  state  and  whose 
front  showed  but  cracked  walls  and  blind  windows 
could  in  some  parts  be  so  habitable.  My  first  care 
was  to  look  where  I  was.  Our  rooms  gave  on  to 
fields,  and  the  view,  over  the  marshy  banks  of  the 
Seine,  spread  as  far  as  the  Calvary  of  Mount 
Valerian. 

On  taking  a  look  at  our  furniture,  I  saw  laid  out 
on  the  bed,  a  grey  coat,  breeches  to  match,  a  hat, 
and  a  sword.  On  the  carpet,  a  pair  of  buckled 
shoes  stood  genteelly  paired,  heels  together,  toes 
out,  as  if  they  had  an  innate  appreciation  of  gal- 
lant bearing. 

I  augured  favourably  from  all  this  of  our  mas- 
ter's liberality.  To  do  him  honour  I  took  great 
pains  over  my  toilet,  and  I  powdered  my  hair  freely 
with  powder,  of  which  I  found  a  box  full  on  a  little 
table.  I  found  in  a  drawer  of  the  chest  of  draw- 
ers, a  lace  shirt  and  white  stockings — all  in  keeping. 

Having  clad  myself  in  the  shirt,  stockings, 
breeches,  coat  and  waistcoat,  I  set  about  walking 
up  and  down  the  room,  the  hat  under  my  arm,  my 
hand  on  the  hilt  of  my  sword,  stopping  every  mo- 
ment to  lean  over  the  mirror,  and  regretting  that 
Catherine  the  lace-maker  could  not  see  me  thus  gal- 
lantly equipped. 

I  had  gone  through  this  little  performance  sev- 
eral times  when  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  came 
into  my  room  with  new  bands  and  a  very  respec- 
table clerical  collar. 

"Is  it  you  Tournebroche,  my  son?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Never  forget  that  you  owe  these  fine  clothes  to 
the  knowledge  that  I  have  instilled  into  you.  They 
suit  a  humanist  such  as  you  are,  for  where  we  speak 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  51 

of  the  humanities  it  is  as  much  as  to  say  ornaments. 
But  look  at  me,  I  beg  of  you,  and  tell  me  do  I  not 
look  well.  In  this  coat  I  feel  that  I  am  a  man 
of  worthy  repute.  This  Monsieur  d'Astarac  is  of 
a  magnificent  turn.  'Tis  a  pity  that  he  is  mad. 
But  he  is  at  least  sane  on  one  point — for  he  calls 
his  valet  Criton,  that  is  to  say  judge.  And  it  is 
true  indeed  that  our  valets  are  the  witnesses  of 
our  every  action.  They  are  sometimes  their  in- 
stigation. When  milord  Verulam,  Chancellor  of 
England,  whose  philosophy  is  not  much  to  my  taste, 
but  who  was  a  learned  man,  entered  the  Upper 
House  to  take  his  trial,  his  lackeys,  clad  with  a 
sumptuousness  that  gave  evidence  of  the  display  ex- 
hibited by  the  chancellor  in  the  conduct  of  his  house- 
hold, rose  up  as  a  mark  of  respect.  But  milord 
Verulam  said  to  them:  'Be  seated!  Your  ag- 
grandisement has  brought  me  low.' 

"In  reality,  these  rogues  had  by  their  extrava- 
gance rushed  him  to  ruin  and  constrained  him  to 
acts  for  which  he  was  indicted  for  corruption. 
Tournebroche,  my  son,  may  the  example  of  milord 
Verulam,  Chancellor  of  England,  and  author  of  the 
Novum  Organon  be  always  before  your  eyes.  But 
to  return  to  this  Seigneur  d'Astarac,  in  whose  serv- 
ice we  are,  it  is  a  great  pity  that  he  is  a  sorcerer 
and  given  over  to  evil  knowledge.  You  know,  my 
son,  that  I  pride  myself  on  my  particularity  in  mat- 
ters of  faith.  It  costs  me  something  to  take  serv- 
ice with  a  cabalist,  who  turns  our  sacred  writings 
upside  down,  on  the  pretext  of  understanding 
them  better  so.  All  the  same,  if,  as  his  name 
and  his  speech  seem  to  indicate  he  is  a  gentle- 
man of  Gascony,  we  have  nothing  to  fear. 
A  Gascon  can  make  pact  with  the  devil,  for  you 


52  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

may  be  sure  that  it  is  the  devil  who  will  be  duped." 
The  bell  for  our  mid-day  dinner  interrupted  our 
talk. 

"Tournebroche,  my  son,"  said  my  master,  go- 
ing downstairs,  "remember  during  the  meal  to  fol- 
low all  my  movements,  so  that  you  may  imitate 
them.  Having  eaten  at  the  third  table  of  my  lord 
Bishop  of  Seez  I  know  how  to  behave  myself.  It 
is  a  difficult  art.  It  is  less  easy  to  eat  like  a  gentle- 
man than  to  speak  like  one." 


VI 

N  the  dining-room  we  found  the  table 
laid  for  three,  where  Monsieur 
d'Astarac  made  us  sit  down.  Cri- 
ton,  who  did  the  office  of  butler, 
served  us  with  jellies,  extracts  and 
"purees"  passed  a  dozen  times 
through  the  sieve.  We  saw  no 
roast  appear.  Though  we  were  very  careful  to 
hide  our  surprise,  my  good  master  and  I,  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  perceived  it  and  said  to  us: 

"Messieurs,  this  is  only  an  experiment,  and  if  it 
seems  an  unfortunate  one  to  you,  I  will  not  persist 
in  it.  You  shall  be  served  with  more  ordinary 
dishes,  and  I  myself  will  not  disdain  to  partake. 
If  the  dishes  that  I  offer  you  to-day  are  badly  pre- 
pared, it  is  less  the  fault  of  my  cook  than  that  of 
the  science  of  chemistry,  which  is  yet  in  its  infancy. 
All  the  same,  this  will  give  you  some  notion  of  what 
we  shall  see  in  the  future.  At  present  men  eat 
without  philosophy.  They  do  not  feed  like  rea- 
sonable beings.  They  do  not  even  think  about  it. 
But  what  do  they  think  about?  They  nearly  all 
live  in  a  state  of  stupidity,  and  even  such  as  are 
capable  of  reflection  occupy  their  mind  with  follies 
such  as  controversy  and  the  making  of  poetry. 
Consider,  Messieurs,  the  subject  of  man  and  his 
food  since  distant  times  when  they  ceased  all  com- 
merce with  Sylphs  and  Salamanders.  Abandoned 
by  these  sprites  of  air,  they  sank  heavily  down  into 
ignorance  and  barbarism.  Without  art  and  with- 

53 


54  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

out  governance,  they  lived  naked  and  miserable  in 
caves,  on  the  banks  of  streams,  or  in  the  forests. 
The  chase  was  their  only  pursuit.  When  by  sur- 
prise or  superior  swiftness  they  took  some  timid 
animal,  they  devoured  their  prey  while  it  was  yet 
quivering. 

"Moreover,  they  ate  the  flesh  of  their  compan- 
ions, and  of  their  weakly  brethren,  and  the  first 
sepulchres  of  humanity  were  living  tombs,  were 
bowels,  famished  and  without  compassion. 

"After  long  and  savage  centuries,  appeared  a 
man  divine  whom  the  Greeks  called  Prometheus. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  this  sage  had  commerce  with 
the  race  of  Salamanders,  in  the  secret  resorts  of  the 
Nymphs.  He  learnt  from  them,  and  taught  to 
poor  mortals,  the  art  of  kindling  and  keeping  fire. 
Among  the  innumerable  gains  which  mankind  has 
derived  from  him  who  is  now  enskied,  one  of  the 
happiest  was  to  be  able  to  cook  food,  and  by  this 
treatment  to  render  it  lighter  and  less  gross. 

"And  it  is  in  great  measure  as  a  result  of  their 
nourishment  being  submitted  to  the  action  of  fire, 
that  men  have  slowly  and  by  degrees  become  intelli- 
gent, industrious,  reflective,  and  apt  to  cultivate  the 
arts  and  sciences.  But  this  was  but  the  first  step, 
and  it  is  distressing  to  think  that  so  many  millions 
of  years  have  rolled  by  without  there  having  been 
a  second.  Since  the  time  when  our  ancestors 
broiled  a  bear's  ham  over  a  brushwood  fire,  under 
the  shelter  of  a  rock,  we  have  made  no  real  prog- 
ress in  cookery.  For  you  will  scarcely  reckon  as 
anything,  the  inventions  of  Lucullus,  and  that  fat 
pasty  to  which  Vitellius  gave  the  name  of  the  buck- 
ler of  Minerva,  any  more  than  our  toasts,  our  pat- 
ties, our  stews,  our  stuffed  meats,  and  all  those 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  55 

made  dishes  which  still  retain  much  of  the  old  bar- 
barity. 

"The  king's  table  at  Fontainebleau,  where  they 
dish  a  whole  stag  in  his  skin,  and  with  his  antlers, 
presents  to  the  eyes  of  a  philosopher  as  gross  a 
spectacle  as  that  of  the  troglodytes  crouching 
round  the  fire  gnawing  horse-bones.  The  gay  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  the  guards,  the  richly-dressed 
officers,  the  musicians  playing  airs  from  Lambert 
and  Lulli  *  in  the  gallery,  the  silken  cloths,  the  sil- 
ver service,  the  cups  of  gold,  the  Venetian  glass,  the 
sconces,  the  chased  epergnes  decked  with  flowers,  all 
these  fail  to  deceive  or  to  cast  a  charm  which  shall 
hide  the  true  nature  of  this  unclean  charnel-house, 
where  men  and  women  meet  to  feast  greedily  on  the 
carcasses  of  beasts,  on  broken  bones  and  torn  flesh. 
What  an  unphilosophic  repast!  We  swallow,  with 
stupid  greed,  muscles,  fat  and  entrails  of  animals, 
without  making  any  distinction  in  these  substances 
between  the  parts  which  are  really  suitable  for  our 
nourishment  and  those,  far  more  plentiful,  which 
should  be  thrown  away;  and  we  bolt  without  dis- 
tinction, the  good  and  the  bad,  the  useful  and  the 
hurtful.  This  is,  however,  where  we  should  make 
a  distinction,  and  if,  in  all  the  faculty,  a  single  doc- 
tor of  chemistry  and  philosopher  could  be  found, 
we  should  no  longer  be  obliged  to  sit  down  to  these 
disgusting  orgies. 

"He  would  prepare  for  us,  Messieurs,  extracts  of 
meat,  containing  merely  what  is  in  sympathy  and 
affinity  with  our  bodies.  Only  the  quintessence  of 
beef  and  swine-flesh  would  be  taken,  merely  the 
elixir  of  partridges  and  pullets,  and  everything  that 

*  Lulli ,   Jean-Baptiste.     Born    at   Florence.     Settled    at   court   of 
Louis  XIV.     Created  opera  at  Paris,   1633-1687. 


5  6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

one  swallowed  could  be  digested.  It  is  what  I  do 
not  despair  of  succeeding  in  doing  one  day,  Mes- 
sieurs, in  dwelling  more  on  the  study  of  medicine 
and  chemistry  than  I  have  hitherto  had  the  time  to 
do." 

At  these  words  from  our  host  Monsieur  Jerome 
Coignard  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  Spartan  broth  on 
his  plate,  and  looked  uneasily  at  Monsieur  d'As- 
tarac. 

"Even  so  our  progress  would  still  be  inade- 
quate," continued  the  latter.  "An  honest  man  can- 
not without  disgust  eat  the  flesh  of  animals,  and 
nations  cannot  call  themselves  civilised  so  long  as 
slaughter-houses  and  butchers'  shops  are  to  be 
found  in  their  towns.  But  one  day  we  shall  know 
how  to  rid  ourselves  of  these  barbarous  trades. 
When  we  know  exactly  the  nutrient  substances 
which  are  contained  in  the  bodies  of  animals,  it  will 
become  possible  to  draw  these  same  substances  out 
of  the  lifeless  bodies,  which  will  supply  them  abund- 
antly. These  bodies  really  contain  all  that  is  found 
in  living  beings,  since  the  animal  is  formed  from 
the  vegetable,  which  in  its  turn  has  drawn  its  sub- 
stance from  lifeless  matter. 

"The  next  thing  will  be  to  nourish  ourselves  on 
extracts  of  metals  and  minerals  suitably  prepared 
by  physicians.  Have  no  fear  the  taste  will  be  de- 
licious and  its  absorption  wholesome.  Cooking 
will  be  done  in  retorts,  and  in  alembics  and  we  shall 
have  alchemists  as  master-cooks.  Are  you  not  ex- 
ceedingly anxious,  Messieurs,  to  see  these  marvels? 
I  promise  you  them  in  time  to  come.  But  you  can- 
not yet  grasp  the  excellent  results  they  will  effect." 

"Truly,  Monsieur,  I  fail  to  grasp  it."  said  my 
good  master,  taking  a  drink  of  wine. 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  57 

"Deign,  in  that  case,  to  listen  to  me  a  moment," 
said  Monsieur  d'Astarac.  "Being  no  longer 
weighed  down  by  slow  processes  of  digestion  men 
will  become  singularly  agile,  their  sight  will  become 
wonderfully  keen,  and  they  will  see  ships  gliding  on 
the  seas  of  the  moon.  Their  understanding  will 
be  clearer,  their  manners  will  soften.  They  will 
advance  greatly  in  the  knowledge  of  God  and  na- 
ture. But  one  must  face  the  changes  which  will  not 
fail  to  be  produced.  Even  the  structure  of  the  hu- 
man body  will  be  modified.  It  is  a  fact  that  for 
want  of  use  organs  dwindle  and  even  end  by  disap- 
pearing. It  has  been  observed  that  fish  deprived 
of  light  become  blind;  and  in  Valais  I  have  seen 
shepherds  who,  living  only  on  curds  and  whey,  lost 
their  teeth  very  early;  some  amongst  them  never 
even  had  any.  One  cannot  but  admire  nature  in 
that  particular;  she  suffers  nothing  useless  to  exist. 
When  mankind  feeds  but  on  the  infusions  I  have 
described,  the  intestines  will  not  fail  to  become 
shorter  by  several  ells,  and  the  size  of  the  stomach 
will  be  considerably  diminished." 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  my  good  master,  "you  go 
too  fast,  Monsieur,  and  risk  making  a  bad  job  of 
it!  It  has  never  vexed  me  that  women  should  have 
a  little  of  that,  so  long  as  the  rest  was  in  propor- 
tion. It  is  a  beauty  which  appeals  to  me.  Do  not 
inconsiderately  prune  it  away." 

"Well,  never  mind  about  that.  We  will  leave 
women's  waists  and  hips  to  shape  themselves  ac- 
cording to  the  canon  of  the  Greek  sculptors.  That 
will  be  to  please  you,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  and  in  con- 
sideration of  the  needs  of  maternity;  though,  to 
speak  candidly,  I  desire  to  make  various  changes  on 
that  point,  of  which  I  will  speak  to  you  some  day. 


58  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

To  return  to  our  subject,  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  all 
I  have  told  you  up  to  the  present  is  but  feeling  the 
way  towards  the  true  nourishment,  which  is  that  of 
the  Sylphs,  and  the  Spirits  of  the  air.  They  drink 
in  the  light,  which  suffices  to  give  a  strength  and 
wonderful  supplenesss  to  their  bodies.  It  is  their 
only  potion.  One  day  it  will  be  ours,  Messieurs. 
It  is  merely  a  question  of  rendering  potable  the 
beams  of  the  sun.  I  confess  to  not  seeing  with 
sufficient  clearness  the  road  to  success,  and  I  fore- 
see numerous  troubles  and  great  obstacles  in  the 
way.  If  ever  some  sage  attains  this  goal,  mankind 
will  equal  the  Sylphs  and  Salamanders  in  intelli- 
gence and  beauty." 

My  good  master  listened  to  these  words  sitting 
bowed  in  his  seat,  his  head  bent  in  sadness.  He 
seemed  to  be  pondering  the  changes  in  his  appear- 
ance the  nutrition  imagined  by  his  host  would  one 
day  bring  about. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he  at  last,  "did  you  not  speak 
yesterday  at  the  cook-shop  of  a  certain  elixir  which 
dispenses  with  all  other  nourishment?" 

"True,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "but  that 
liquor  is  only  good  for  philosophers;  by  that  you 
will  readily  conceive  that  its  usage  is  restricted.  It 
were  better  not  to  speak  of  it." 

However,  a  doubt  troubled  me,  and  I  asked  per- 
mission of  my  host  to  put  it  before  him,  certain  that 
he  would  throw  light  upon  it  at  once.  He  gave  me 
permission  to  speak,  and  I  said: 

"Monsieur,  these  Salamanders  who,  as  you  say, 
are  so  beautiful  and  of  whom,  by  your  account,  I 
have  formed  so  charming  a  notion — have  they  had 
the  misfortune  to  spoil  their  teeth  by  drinking  light 
as  the  peasants  of  Valais  have  lost  theirs  by  taking 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  59 

nothing  but  milk-food?  I  allow  that  I  am  anxious 
on  the  point." 

"My  son,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "y°ur 
curiosity  pleases  me,  and  I  will  satisfy  it.  Sala- 
manders have  no  teeth,  properly  speaking.  But 
their  gums  are  furnished  with  two  rows  of  very 
white  and  shining  pearls,  which  lend  an  inconceiv- 
able grace  to  their  smile.  Know,  then,  that  these 
pearls  are  but  materialised  light." 

I  told  Monsieur  d'Astarac  that  I  was  very  much 
relieved  to  hear  it.  He  continued: 

"Men's  teeth  are  a  sign  of  their  ferocity.  When 
we  feed  as  we  ought  these  teeth  will  be  replaced 
by  some  ornament  like  the  Salamander's  pearls. 
Then  we  shall  be  unable  to  imagine  how  a  lover 
could  have  looked  without  horror  and  disgust  on 
the  dog-teeth  in  his  mistress's  mouth." 


VII 

FTER  dinner  our  host  led  us  into  a 
large  gallery  adjoining  his  study  and 
serving  as  a  library. 

There  on  oaken  shelves  were 
ranged  an  innumerable  army,  or 
rather  a  great  council  of  books,  duo- 
decimos, octavos,  quartos,  folios, 
covered  in  calf,  basil,  morocco,  parchment  and  pig- 
skin. Six  windows  threw  light  on  this  silent  gather- 
ing which  stretched  from  one  end  of  the  apartment  to 
the  other  the  whole  length  of  the  high  walls. 
Great  tables,  alternating  with  celestial  globes  and 
astronomical  instruments,  occupied  the  middle  of 
the  gallery.  Monsieur  d'Astarac  begged  us  to 
choose  the  corner  which  seemed  to  us  the  most  con- 
venient for  work. 

But  my  good  master,  his  mouth  watering,  his 
head  thrown  back,  feasted  his  eyes  and  inhaled  the 
verv  atmosphere  of  books. 

"By  Apollo!"  he  cried,  "a  magnificent  library 
indeed!  The  library  of  my  lord  Bishop  of  Seez, 
rich  as  it  is  in  works  on  the  canon-law,  cannot  be 
compared  to  this.  There  is  no  resort  more  pleas- 
ing to  my  taste,  not  even  the  Elysian  Fields  de- 
scribed by  Virgil.  I  make  out  at  first  glance  so 
many  rare  works  and  so  many  precious  collections 
that  I  doubt,  Monsieur,  if  any  private  library  can 
better  this,  which  only  yields  in  France  to  the 
Mazarin,  and  to  the  Royal.  I  go  so  far  as  to  say, 
60 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  61 

at  the  sight  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  manuscripts, 
which  crowd  this  corner  here,  that  after  the  Bod- 
leian, the  Ambrosian,  the  Laurentian  and  the  Vati- 
can, we  may  name  the  Astaracian.  Without  flat- 
tering myself  I  can  scent  truffles  and  books  from 
afar,  and  I  hold  you  from  this  moment  for  the 
equal  of  Peiresc,*  Grolier,  and  de  Canevarius, 
princes  among  bibliophiles!" 

"I  out-top  them  all,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Astarac 
calmly,  "and  this  library  is  infinitely  more  precious 
than  all  those  you  have  just  named. 

"The  king's  library  is  but  a  book-pedlar's  lot  be- 
sides mine,  unless  you  merely  reckon  by  number  of 
volumes  and  mass  of  inked  paper. 

"Gabriel  Naude,t  and  your  Abbe  Bignon,|  re- 
nowned as  book  collectors,  in  comparison  with  my- 
self, were  but  indolent  shepherds  of  a  sheepish  and 
ignoble  flock  of  books. 

"As  to  the  Benedictines,  I  grant  you  they  are  in- 
dustrious, but  they  have  no  nicety  of  discernment, 
and  their  libraries  reflect  the  mediocrity  of  the 
minds  that  have  formed  them.  My  collection, 
Monsieur,  is  not  on  the  model  of  these.  The 
works  which  I  have  brought  together  form  a  whole 
which  will  not  fail  to  procure  me  the  Knowledge. 
It  is  gnostic,  oecumenical,  and  spiritual.  If  all  the 
lines  traced  on  these  innumerable  leaves  of  parch- 
ment and  of  paper  could  enter  in  due  order  into 
your  brain,  Monsieur,  you  would  know  all  things, 
be  capable  of  all  things,  you  would  be  the  master  of 
nature,  a  worker  in  plasmic  matter;  you  would  hold 

*  Peiresc,  N.  C.  Fabri  de.     Savant,  b.  Provence,  1580-1637. 

t  Naude,  Gabriel.  Litterateur  and  bibliophile,  b.  Paris,  1600- 
1653- 

•^.Bignon,  Jerome.  Scholar  and  writer.  Life  by  Perrault,  1589- 
1656. 


62  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

the  world  between  the  two  fingers  of  your  hand  as 
I  hold  these  grains  of  snuff." 

Whereupon  he  offered  his  box  to  my  good 
master. 

"You  are  very  good,"  said  Monsieur  1'Abbe 
Coignard. 

And  letting  his  ravished  gaze  wander  once  more 
over  this  marshalled  learning,  he  cried: 

"There,  between  the  third  and  fourth  windows 
are  shelves  bearing  an  illustrious  burden !  The 
Oriental  manuscripts  are  assembled  and  seem  to 
converse  in  company!  I  can  see  that  ten  or  twelve 
of  them  are  very  venerable  under  their  rags  of  pur- 
ple, and  gold-brocaded  silk.  There  are  some  who 
wear  clasps  of  precious  stones  to  their  coats,  like 
the  Byzantine  emperors.  Others  again  are  shut  in 
plaques  of  ivory." 

"Those,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "are  the  cab- 
alists,  Jew,  Arabic  and  Persian.  That  is  The 
Hand  of  Power  you  have  just  opened.  Alongside 
you  will  find  The  Spread  Table,  The  Faithful  Pas- 
tor, Fragments  of  the  Temple,  and  The  Light  in 
Darkness.  One  place  is  empty;  that  of  The  Still 
Waters,  a  precious  treatise  which  Mosaide  is  at  the 
moment  studying.  Mosaide,  as  I  have  already 
told  you,  Messieurs,  is  occupied  in  my  house  in  dis- 
covering the  most  profound  secrets  contained  in 
Hebrew  writings,  and,  although  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  old,  this  rabbi  is  unwilling  to  die  until  he 
has  penetrated  the  meaning  of  every  cabalistic  sym- 
bol. I  am  under  great  obligation  to  him;  therefore 
I  beg  of  you,  Messieurs,  to  evince  the  same  feelings 
towards  him  that  I  have  myself. 

"Enough  of  that,  and  now  let  us  turn  to  what 
particularly  concerns  you.  I  thought,  Monsieur 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  63 

1'Abbe,  you  might  transcribe  and  put  into  Latin 
these  Greek  manuscripts  of  inestimable  value.  I 
have  faith  in  your  knowledge  and  in  your  zeal,  and 
I  do  not  doubt  that  your  pupil  will  soon  be  of  great 
help  to  you." 

And  addressing  himself  to  me: 

"Yes,  my  son,  I  have  great  hopes  of  you.  They 
are  founded  in  great  measure  on  the  education  you 
have  received.  For  you  were,  so  to  speak,  nour- 
ished in  the  flames,  under  a  chimney-hood  haunted 
by  Salamanders.  This  circumstance  has  great 
weight." 

As  he  spoke  he  seized  an  armful  of  manuscripts 
which  he  placed  on  the  table. 

"This,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  roll  of  papyrus, 
"comes  from  Egypt.  It  is  a  work  of  Zozimus  the 
Panopolitan,*  which  was  thought  to  be  lost,  and 
which  I  myself  found  in  the  coffin  of  a  priest  of 
Serapis.  And  what  you  see  there,"  he  added, 
showing  us  some  shreds  of  shining  and  fibrous 
leaves  on  which  Greek  characters  traced  with  a 
brush  were  dimly  to  be  discerned,  "are  quite  un- 
heard of  revelations  which  we  owe,  the  one  to  So- 
phar  the  Persian,  the  other  to  John,  arch-priest  of 
St.  Evagia. 

"I  shall  be  infinitely  obliged  to  you  if  you  will 
first  of  all  busy  yourself  with  these  works.  After- 
wards we  will  study  the  manuscripts  of  Synesius, 
Bishop  of  Ptolemai's,  of  Olympiodorus  and  Ste- 
phanus,  which  I  found  in  Ravenna  in  a  vault 
where  they  had  been  shut  up  since  the  reign  of 

*  Zozimus  the  Panopolitan.  Celebrated  hermetic  philosopher  of 
the  3rd  century.  Greatest  of  the  alchemists.  According  to  Pho- 
tius  the  historian  Zozimus  wrote  twenty-eight  works  of  alchemy 
and  dedicated  them  to  his  sister  Theosebia.  There  are  MSS.  of 
his  in  the  Librairie  Nationale  at  Paris. 


64  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

the    ignorant    Theodosius,    surnamed    the    Great. 

"Messieurs,  you  will  please  first  get  an  idea  of 
what  this  vast  work  will  mean.  At  the  end  of  the 
room  you  will  find,  to  the  right  of  the  fireplace,  all 
the  lexicons  and  grammars  I  have  been  able  to  col- 
lect, and  these  will  be  of  some  use  to  you.  Permit 
me  to  leave  you;  there  are  four  or  five  Sylphs  await- 
ing me  in  my  study.  Criton  will  see  that  you  want 
for  nothing.  Farewell." 

As  soon  as  Monsieur  d'Astarac  was  out  of  the 
room  my  good  master  sat  down  before  the  papyrus 
of  Zozimus  and  arming  himself  with  a  magnifying- 
glass  he  had  found  on  the  table,  began  to  decipher 
it.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  not  been  surprised  at  all 
he  had  just  heard. 

He  answered  without  raising  his  head: 

"My  son,  I  have  known  too  many  kinds  of  peo- 
ple and  gone  through  too  many  changes  of  fortune 
to  be  astonished  at  anything. 

"This  gentleman  appears  to  be  mad,  less  because 
he  is  really  so  than  because  his  thoughts  are  so  ex- 
cessively different  from  those  of  the  vulgar.  But  if 
one  paid  attention  to  the  conversation  commonly 
held  in  this  world  one  would  find  still  less  sense 
than  in  that  of  this  philosopher.  Left  to  itself, 
even  the  loftiest  human  reason  builds  its  palaces 
and  temples  in  the  clouds,  and  truly  Monsieur  d'As- 
tarac gathers  a  sufficiency  of  fog.  There  is  no 
truth  but  in  God;  do  not  forget  that,  my  son.  But 
this  verily  is  the  book  of  Imouth  which  Zozimus  the 
Panopolitan  wrote  for  his  sister  Theosebia.  What 
glory  and  what  joy  to  read  this  unique  manuscript 
found  again  in  such  wonderful  fashion.  I  shall 
consecrate  my  days  and  my  nights  to  it.  I  pity 
those  ignorant  men  whose  idleness  throws  them 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  65 

into  debauchery.  It  is  a  miserable  life  they  lead. 
What  is  a  woman  compared  with  an  Alexandrian 
papyrus?  Compare,  I  ask  you,  this  most  notable 
library  with  a  wine-shop,  the  Petit  Bacchus,  and  the 
handling  this  precious  manuscript  with  the  caresses 
one  bestows  on  girls  in  an  arbour,  and  tell  me,  my 
son,  in  which  choice  does  true  content  abide?  I, 
boon  companion  of  the  Muses,  admitted  to  those 
wordless  revels  of  meditation  the  orator  of  Ma- 
daura  *  celebrated  with  eloquence,  I  give  thanks  to 
God  that  He  has  made  me  an  honest  man." 

*  The    orator    of    Madaura.    Apuleius,    author    of    the    famous 
romance,  "The  Golden  Ass." 


VIII 

OR  the  space  of  a  month  or  even  six 
weeks  Monsieur  Coignard  applied 
himself  day  and  night  as  he  had 
promised  to  reading  Zozimus  the 
Panopolitan.  During  meals,  which 
we  took  at  Monsieur  d'Astarac's  ta- 
ble, the  conversation  ran  but  on  the 
opinions  of  gnostics  and  on  the  knowledge  of  the 
ancient  Egyptians.  Being  but  a  very  ignorant 
scholar  I  gave  my  master  little  enough  help.  Still 
I  busied  myself  in  researches  under  his  directions 
to  the  best  of  my  ability;  I  took  a  certain  pleasure 
in  them.  And  we  undoubtedly  lived  a  happy  and 
peaceful  life.  Towards  the  seventh  week  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  gave  me  leave  to  go  and  see  my 
parents  at  the  cook-shop.  The  shop  seemed  to  me 
strangely  shrunk.  My  mother  was  there,  alone 
and  sad.  She  gave  a  loud  cry  when  she  saw  me 
equipped  like  a  young  prince." 

"My  Jacques,"  she  said,  "I  am  happy  indeed." 
And  she  began  to  cry.     We  embraced  one  an- 
other.    Then,  wiping  her  eyes  with  a  corner  of  her 
coarse  apron: 

"Your  father,"  she  said,  "is  at  the  Petit  Bacchus. 
He  goes  there  a  great  deal  since  you  left,  for  he 
takes  less  pleasure  in  his  home  now  that  you  are 
away.  He  will  be  pleased  to  see  you  again.  But 
tell  me,  my  Jacquot,  are  you  pleased  with  your  new 
life?  I  have  had  my  regrets  that  I  let  you  go  away 
with  this  nobleman.  I  even  accused  myself  in  con- 
66 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  67 

fession,  to  Monsieur  the  third  vicaire,  of  having 
preferred  the  good  of  your  body  to  that  of  your 
soul,  and  of  not  having  given  enough  thought  to 
God  in  placing  you  out.  Monsieur  the  third  vic- 
aire  rebuked  me  kindly  and  exhorted  me  to  follow 
the  example  of  the  virtuous  women  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture, of  whom  he  named  several  to  me,  but  those 
are  names  that  I  see  plainly  enough  I  shall  never 
remember.  He  did  not  explain  himself  very  fully, 
as  it  was  Saturday  night,  and  the  church  was  full 
of  penitents." 

I  comforted  my  good  mother  as  well  as  I  could, 
and  told  her  how  Monsieur  d'Astarac  made  me 
work  at  Greek,  which  is  the  language  of  the  Gospel. 
This  thought  was  pleasing  to  her.  Nevertheless 
she  was  still  troubled  with  cares. 

"You  will  never  guess,  my  Jacques,"  she  said  to 
me,  "who  has  been  speaking  to  me  of  Monsieur 
d'Astarac.  Why,  Cadette  Saint-Avit,  the  servant 
of  the  cure  of  St.  Benoit.  She  comes  from  Gas- 
cony,  from  a  place  called  Laroque-Timbaut,  quite 
near  St.  Eulalie,  where  Monsieur  d'Astarac  is  lord 
of  the  manor.  Cadette  St.  Avit  is  old,  you  know, 
as  a  priest's  servant  should  be.  When  she  was 
young  and  lived  in  that  neighbourhood,  she  knew 
the  three  Messieurs  d'Astarac,  one  of  whom,  cap- 
tain of  a  ship,  was  drowned  in  the  sea.  He  was 
the  youngest.  The  second,  colonel  of  a  regiment, 
went  to  the  war  and  was  killed  there.  The  eldest, 
Hercule  d'Astarac,  is  the  only  survivor.  It  is  this 
one  then  whom  you  are  with,  and  for  your  good, 
my  Jacques,  at  least  I  hope  so.  When  young  he  was 
magnificent  in  his  attire,  liberal  in  his  ways,  but  of 
a  gloomy  cast.  He  held  aloof  from  public  office, 
and  did  not  seem  eager  to  enter  the  king's  service 


68  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

as  his  brothers  did,  and  there  meet  an  honourable 
end.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  there  was 
nothing  glorious  in  bearing  a  sword  at  one's  side, 
that  he  knew  no  trade  more  ignoble  than  the  noble 
career  of  arms,  and  that  a  village  bone-setter,  was, 
in  his  opinion,  much  above  a  brigadier  or  a  marshal 
of  France.  Such  was  his  talk.  I  must  own  that 
it  does  not  seem  either  bad  or  mischievous  to  me, 
but  rather  bold  and  odd.  Still  it  must  in  some 
measure  be  condemned,  since  Cadette  St.  Avit  said 
that  Monsieur  the  cure  took  exception  to  it,  as  con- 
trary to  the  ordering  of  things  established  by  God 
in  the  world,  and  as  opposed  to  passages  in  the 
Bible,  where  God  is  called  a  name  which  means 
field-marshal.  That  would  be  a  great  sin.  Mon- 
sieur Hercule  held  himself  so  aloof  from  the  court 
that  he  refused  to  make  the  journey  to  Versailles 
to  be  presented  to  his  majesty,  as  his  birth  war- 
ranted. He  said:  'The  king  does  not  visit  me.  I 
shall  not  visit  him.'  And  it  stands  to  reason,  my 
Jacquot,  that  this  is  a  most  unnatural  speech." 

My  good  mother  looked  at  me  with  troubled  in- 
terrogation, and  then  went  on  in  the  same  way: 

"What  I  have  still  to  tell  you,  my  Jacquot,  is 
even  less  credible.  Yet  Cadette  St.  Avit  spoke  of 
it  as  sure  and  certain.  I  will  tell  you  that  Mon- 
sieur Hercule  d'Astarac,  not  leaving  his  domain, 
cared  for  nothing  but  the  putting  cf  sunlight  into 
glass  bottles.  Cadette  St.  Avit  did  not  know  how 
he  set  about  it,  but  of  this  much  she  is  certain,  that 
in  the  course  of  time,  in  these  glass  bottles  well 
corked  and  warmed  in  a  bain-marie,  women  were 
formed  very  tiny  and  beautifully  made,  and  dressed 
like  princesses  in  a  play.  You  laugh,  my  Jacquot, 
yet  one  cannot  joke  at  these  things  when  one  sees 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  69 

the  consequences.  It  is  a  great  sin  to  make  crea- 
tures in  this  way  who  cannot  be  baptized  and  can 
never  participate  in  eternal  bliss.  For  you  can 
scarcely  imagine  that  Monsieur  d'Astarac  took 
these  little  dolls  to  the  priests  in  their  bottles  to 
hold  them  over  the  baptismal  font?  They  could 
never  have  found  a  god-mother." 

"But,  dear  mother,"  said  I,  "Monsieur  d'Astar- 
ac's  dolls  have  no  need  of  baptism  for  they  had  no 
share  in  original  sin." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  my  mother,  "and 
Cadette  St.  Avit  herself  said  nothing  about  it,  al- 
though she  is  servant  to  a  cure.  Unfortunately 
she  left  Gascony  very  young  to  come  into  France, 
and  she  heard  no  more  of  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  his 
bottles  and  his  puppets.  I  hope  indeed,  my  dear 
Jacquot,  that  he  has  renounced  these  evil  works 
which  could  not  be  accomplished  without  the  help 
of  the  Evil  One." 

But  I  asked: 

"Tell  me,  my  good  mother,  Cadette  St.  Avit, 
the  cure's  servant,  did  she  see  with  her  own  eyes 
these  ladies  in  the  bottles?" 

"Not  so,  my  child;  Monsieur  d'Astarac  was  far 
too  secretive  to  show  those  dolls.  But  she  heard 
them  spoken  of  by  an  ecclesiastic  of  the  name  of 
Fulgence,  who  was  always  about  the  chateau  and 
swore  he  had  seen  these  little  people  come  out  of 
their  glass  prison  and  dance  a  minuet.  And,  there- 
fore, she  had  all  the  more  reason  for  believing  it. 
For  one  may  doubt  what  one  sees  but  not  the  word 
of  an  honest  man,  particularly  when  he  is  an  ecclesi- 
astic. There  is  another  drawback  to  these  prac- 
tices, that  is  that  they  are  extremely  costly,  and  one 
cannot  imagine,  Cadette  St.  Avit  said,  the  expense 


7o  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

Monsieur  Hercule  went  to,  to  procure  the  bottles  of 
various  shapes,  the  furnaces,  and  the  grammaries 
with  which  he  had  filled  his  chateau.  But  by  the 
death  of  his  brother  he  became  the  richest  gentle- 
man in  the  county,  and  while  he  wasted  his  sub- 
stance in  folly  his  fat  lands  worked  for  him.  Ca- 
dette  St.  Avit  judges  that  notwithstanding  his  out- 
lay he  must  still  be  very  rich,  even  now." 

As  she  spoke  my  father  entered  the  shop.  He 
embraced  me  fondly  and  confided  to  me  that  the 
house  had  lost  half  its  attraction  in  consequence  of 
my  departure,  and  that  of  Monsieur  Jerome  Coig- 
nard,  who  was  a  good  fellow  and  a  jovial.  He 
complimented  me  on  my  clothes  and  gave  me  some 
hints  on  deportment,  declaring  that  business  had 
bred  an  affable  manner  in  him  from  the  continual 
obligation  he  was  under  to  greet  customers  as  if 
they  were  gentlemen,  even  when  they  were  of  the 
vulgarest  sort.  He  gave  me  the  advice  to  round 
my  elbow  and  turn  out  my  toes,  and  counselled  me 
over  and  above  to  go  and  see  Leandre,  at  the  fair 
of  Saint  Germain,  so  as  to  model  myself  on  him. 

We  dined  together  with  good  appetite,  and 
parted  in  floods  of  tears.  I  loved  them  both  very 
much,  and  what  made  me  cry  most  was  that  I  felt 
that,  in  six  weeks  of  absence,  they  had  become 
nearly  strangers  to  me.  And  I  think  that  their 
grief  came  from  the  same  feeling. 


IX 


T  was  black  night  when  I  left  the 
cook-shop.  At  the  corner  of  the 
rue  des  Ecrivains  I  heard  a  rich 
deep  voice  that  sang: 

"If  'it  be  thine  honour's  lost, 
Frail  and  fair,  'twas  thy  desire." 


And  I  soon  saw  on  the  side  whence  came  the 
voice  brother  Ange  who,  his  wallet  swinging  on  his 
shoulder  and  holding  Catherine  the  lace-maker 
round  the  waist,  walked  in  the  shadow  with  stag- 
gering and  triumphant  gait,  throwing  up  the  waters 
of  the  gutter  under  his  sandals  in  magnificent  great 
splashes  of  mud  which  seemed  to  celebrate  his  sot- 
tish gloriousness,  as  the  basins  at  Versailles  play 
their  jets  in  honour  of  kings.  I  stood  against  a 
stone  door-post  that  they  might  not  see.  But  it 
was  an  unnecessary  precaution  for  they  were  too  oc- 
cupied with  one  another.  Catherine  laughed,  with 
her  head  thrown  back  on  the  monk's  shoulder.  A 
ray  of  moonlight  played  on  her  fresh  lips,  and  in 
her  eyes,  as  in  spring  waters.  And  I  went  on  my 
way,  vexed  to  the  soul,  with  a  weight  on  my  heart, 
thinking  on  the  rounded  shape  of  this  beautiful  girl 
pressed  in  the  arms  of  a  dirty  capuchin. 

"How  should  it  be,"  I  asked  myself,  "that  so 
sweet  a  thing  should  come  into  such  foul  hands? 
And  if  it  be  that  Catherine  disdains  me,  need  she 
yet  make  her  scorn  the  more  cruel  by  the  liking  she 
shows  for  this  scoundrel,  brother  Ange?" 
7i 


72  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

The  preference  seemed  to  me  astonishing,  and 
surprised  as  much  as  it  disgusted  me.  But  it  was 
not  in  vain  that  I  was  the  pupil  of  Monsieur  Jerome 
Coignard.  The  incomparable  master  had  formed 
my  mind  to  meditation.  I  pictured  to  myself  the 
Satyrs  one  sees  in  gardens  ravishing  the  Nymphs, 
and  I  made  the  reflection  that  if  Catherine  was 
made  like  a  Nymph,  the  Satyrs  such  as  they  are  ex- 
hibited to  us,  were  as  frightful  as  the  monk.  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  should  not  be  too 
much  astonished  at  that  I  had  just  seen.  Still  my 
reasons  did  not  dissipate  my  grief;  no  doubt  be- 
cause they  did  not  come  from  the  same  source. 
These  meditations  led  me,  across  the  shades  of 
night  and  the  puddles  melted  by  the  thaw,  to  the  St. 
Germain  road,  where  I  met  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Je- 
rome Coignard,  who  had  been  supping  in  the  town 
and  was  returning  late  to  the  Cross  of  Les  Sablons. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  "I  have  just  been  discussing 
Zozimus  and  the  gnostics  at  the  table  of  a  very 
learned  ecclesiastic,  a  second  Peiresc.  The  wine 
was  rough  and  the  cheer  but  middling.  But  nectar 
and  ambrosia  flowed  in  our  speech." 

My  good  master  then  spoke  of  the  Panopolitan 
with  unimaginable  eloquence.  Alas!  I  was  a  bad 
listener,  thinking  of  that  bead  of  moonlight  that 
fell  through  the  dark  on  Catherine's  lips. 

At  last  he  paused,  and  I  asked  him  on  what 
ground  the  Greeks  had  founded  the  Nymph's  taste 
for  Satyrs.  My  good  master  was  ready  with  an 
answer  to  any  questions,  so  extensive  was  his  knowl- 
edge. Said  he : 

"My  son,  it  is  a  taste  founded  on  natural  sym- 
pathy. Although  less  ardent,  it  is  as  pronounced 
as  that  of  the  Satyrs  for  the  Nymphs  to  which 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  73 

it  corresponds.  Poets  have  well  observed  the 
distinction.  In  this  connection  I  will  tell  you  a 
singular  adventure  I  read  of  in  a  manuscript  which 
belonged  to  my  lord  bishop  of  Seez'  library  (I  see 
it  still).  It  was  a  compilation  in  folio  written  in 
good  writing  of  the  last  century.  The  singular 
story  it  told  was  this.  A  Norman  gentleman  and 
his  wife  took  part  in  a  public  merry-making,  the  one 
disguised  as  a  Satyr,  the  other  as  a  Nymph.  One 
knows  from  Ovid  with  what  ardour  the  Satyrs  pur- 
sued the  Nymphs.  This  gentleman  had  read  his 
Metamorphoses.  He  entered  so  well  into  the 
spirit  of  his  disguise  that  nine  months  afterwards 
his  wife  presented  him  with  a  child  that  had  the 
goat's  foot  and  the  horned  brow.  What  became 
of  the  father  we  do  not  know,  except  that  he  died — 
the  lot  common  to  all — leaving,  along  with  his  lit- 
tle goat-foot,  another  and  a  younger  child,  a  Chris- 
tian this  one,  and  of  human  form.  This  younger 
son  appealed  to  the  law  that  his  brother  should  be 
deprived  of  the  paternal  inheritance  by  reason  that 
he  did  not  belong  to  the  race  redeemed  by  the  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ.  The  Parliament  of  Normandy, 
sitting  in  Rouen,  gave  him  judgment  and  the  decree 
was  registered." 

I  asked  my  good  master  if  it  were  possible  that 
such  a  travesty  could  have  its  effect  on  nature,  and 
if  the  shape  of  the  child  result  from  the  cut  of  a 
coat.  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  advised  me  not 
to  believe  a  word  of  it. 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,  my  son,"  said  he,  "al- 
ways bear  in  mind  that  a  sound  intelligence  rejects 
everything  that  is  contrary  to  reason,  except  in 
matters  of  faith,  where  it  is  necessary  to  believe 
blindly.  God  be  thanked  I  have  never  erred  in  the 


74  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

matter  of  the  dogmas  of  our  holy  religion,  and  I 
trust  that  I  shall  be  found  in  this  disposition  in  the 
article  of  death." 

While  talking  thus  we  arrived  at  the  chateau. 
In  the  midst  of  the  darkness  the  roof  showed  up 
with  a  red  illumination.  From  one  of  the  chimneys 
sparks  poured  out  which  mounted  in  volumes  to  fall 
again  in  golden  rain  under  the  thick  smoke  which 
hid  the  sky.  We  both  thought  that  flames  were 
devouring  the  building.  My  good  master  tore  his 
hair  and  groaned. 

"My  Zozimus!  my  papyrus!  my  Greek  manu- 
scripts! Help!  help!  my  Zozimus!" 

Running  up  the  avenue  through  pools  of  water 
which  reflected  the  glow  of  the  fire,  we  crossed  the 
park  which  was  buried  in  deep  shadow  still  and  de- 
serted. In  the  chateau  all  seemed  asleep.  We 
heard  the  roar  of  the  fire,  which  filled  the  dark 
stairway.  We  went  up  two  steps  at  a  time,  stop- 
ping at  moments  to  hear  whence  came  this  awful 
noise. 

It  seemed  to  come  from  a  corridor  on  the  first 
floor  where  we  had  never  yet  set  foot.  We  felt  our 
way  along  this  direction,  and  seeing  a  red  light 
through  the  cracks  of  a  closed  door  we  flung  our- 
selves upon  it.  It  yielded  suddenly. 

Monsieur  d'Astarac,  who  had  opened  it,  stood 
tranquilly  before  us.  His  long,  black-clad  figure 
stood  erect  in  a  very  atmosphere  of  flame.  He 
asked  us  quietly  what  urgent  matter  made  us  seek 
him  at  this  hour. 

There  was  no  conflagration,  but  an  enormous  fire 
issuing  from  a  reverberatory  furnace,  known  to  me 
since  as  an  athanor.  The  whole  of  this  room,  and 
it  was  big  enough,  was  full  of  long-necked  glass  bot- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  75 

ties  surmounted  by  winding,  duck-billed  glass  tubes ; 
retorts,  like  faces  with  inflated  cheeks,  whence 
sprang  a  nose  like  an  elephant's  trunk;  crucibles, 
matrasses,  cupels,  cucurbits  and  vessels  of  unknown 
shapes. 

My  good  master,  wiping  his  face,  which  shone 
like  fire,  said: 

"Ah,  Monsieur!  we  thought  the  chateau  was 
blazing  like  a  handful  of  straw.  Thank  God  the 
library  is  not  burnt.  But  I  see,  Monsieur,  that  you 
practice  the  spagyric  art." 

"I  will  not  conceal  from  you,"  replied  Monsieur 
d'Astarac,  "that  I  have  made  considerable  progress 
in  it,  without,  however,  having  altogether  found  the 
Theleme,  which  would  complete  my  work.  At  the 
very  moment  you  burst  in  I  was  in  the  act  of  distil- 
ling the  Spirit  of  the  World  and  the  Flower  of 
Heaven,  which  is  the  True  Fountain  of  Youth. 
Do  you  understand  alchemy  at  all,  Monsieur  Coig- 
nard?" 

The  Abbe  replied  that  he  had  acquired  a  certain 
smattering  from  books,  but  he  held  the  practice  per- 
nicious, and  contrary  to  religion. 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  smiled  and  said: 

"You  are  too  able  a  man,  Monsieur  Coignard, 
not  to  know  the  Flying  Eagle,  the  Bird  of  Hermes, 
the  Fowl  of  Hermogenes,  the  Raven's  Head,  the 
Green  Lion  and  the  Phoenix." 

"I  have  heard  it  said,"  replied  my  good  master, 
"that  those  are  the  names  of  the  philosopher's 
stone  in  its  different  states.  But  I  doubt  the  pos- 
sibility of  transmuting  metals." 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  answered  very  confidently: 

"Nothing  is  easier  for  me,  Monsieur,  than  to  put 
an  end  to  your  uncertainty." 


76  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

He  went  and  opened  an  old  lop-sided  cupboard 
propped  against  the  wall,  took  out  a  copper  coin 
bearing  the  effigy  of  the  late  king,  and  drew  our  at- 
tention to  a  round  spot  which  ran  through  it. 
"That,"  said  he,  "is  the  effect  of  the  stone  which 
has  transmuted  the  copper  into  silver.  But  that  is 
but  a  trifle." 

He  returned  to  the  cupboard  and  took  out  a  sap- 
phire as  large  as  an  egg,  an  opal  of  marvellous  size, 
and  a  handful  of  perfectly  beautiful  emeralds. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "is  some  of  my  work,  which 
will  sufficiently  prove  to  you  that  the  spagyric  art 
is  not  the  dream  of  an  empty  brain." 

At  the  bottom  of  the  bowl  where  the  stones  lay 
were  five  or  six  small  diamonds  which  Monsieur 
d'Astarac  did  not  even  mention.  My  good  master 
asked  if  they  were  also  of  his  making.  And  the 
alchemist  having  replied  that  they  were : 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Abbe,  "I  advise  you  first 
to  show  these  latter  to  the  curious,  for  prudence 
sake.  If  you  first  show  the  sapphire,  opal  and  the 
ruby,  they  will  say  that  only  the  devil  could  produce 
such  stones,  and  they  will  proceed  against  you  for 
sorcery.  Moreover,  only  the  devil  could  live  com- 
fortably with  these  furnaces,  where  one  inhales  the 
very  flames.  As  for  me,  who  have  been  here  but  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  I  am  already  nearly  cooked." 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  smiled  benevolently,  and 
showing  us  out  explained  himself  as  follows: 

"Although  knowing  well  what  to  think  as  re- 
gards the  reality  of  the  devil  and  of  That  Other,  I 
am  always  willing  to  speak  of  them  with  those  who 
believe  in  them.  The  devil  and  That  Other  are,  as 
we  may  say,  characters;  and  we  may  talk  of  them 
as  of  Achilles  and  Thersites.  Rest  assured,  Mes- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  77 

sieurs,  that  if  the  devil  be  what 'they  say,  he  does 
not  dwell  in  so  subtle  an  element  as  the  fire.  It  is 
a  contradiction  of  the  worst  kind  to  put  so  evil  a 
beast  in  the  substance  of  the  sun.  But  as  I  had  the 
honour  to  explain,  Monsieur  Tournebroche,  to  your 
mother's  friend  the  capuchin,  I  consider  that  Chris- 
tians calumniate  Satan  and  his  demons.  That 
there  may  be,  in  some  unknown  land,  beings  yet 
more  wicked  than  men  is  possible,  though  barely 
conceivable.  Assuredly,  if  they  do  exist,  they  in- 
habit regions  deprived  of  light,  and  if  they  burn 
it  is  in  ice,  which  truthfully  enough  causes  acute 
pain,  and  not  in  illustrious  flame  amidst  the  ardent 
daughters  of  the  stars.  They  suffer  because  they 
are  wicked,  and  wickedness  is  an  ill,  but  it  can  be 
but  from  frost-bite.  As  to  your  Satan,  Monsieur, 
who  is  held  in  such  horror  by  our  theologians,  I  do 
not  think  him  so  contemptible,  to  judge  by  all  you 
say  of  him,  and  if,  peradventure,  he  exists  I  should 
take  him  for  no  evil  beast,  but  rather  for  some 
slight  Sylph,  or,  to  put  him  at  the  lowest,  for  a 
metal-working  Gnome,  very  intelligent  and  slightly 
ironical." 

My  good  master  stopped  his  ears  and  fled  that  he 
might  not  hear  any  more. 

"What  impiety,  Tournebroche  my  son,"  he  cried 
on  the  stairs,  "what  blasphemy!  Did  you  fully 
understand  the  detestableness  of  this  philosopher's 
principles?  He  pushes  his  atheism  to  the  point  of 
a  frenzied  rejoicing  which  confounds  me.  But  that 
of  itself  renders  him  nearly  innocent  in  the  matter, 
for,  being  separate  from  all  belief,  he  cannot  lacer- 
ate the  Holy  Church  as  do  those  who  are  still  par- 
tially attached  to  her  by  some  half-severed  and  still 
bleeding  member.  Such,  my  son,  are  the  Luther- 


78  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

ans  and  the  Calvinists,  whose  rupture  is  the  gan- 
grene of  the  Church.  Atheists,  on  the  contrary,  are 
their  own  damnation,  and  one  may  die  with  them 
without  sin.  So  we  need  have  no  scruples  in  living 
with  this  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  who  believes  in 
neither  God  nor  devil.  But  did  you  notice, 
Tournebroche  my  son,  that  at  the  bottom  of  the 
bowl  lay  a  handful  of  small  diamonds  he  himself 
scarcely  troubled  to  take  count  of,  and  which 
seemed  to  me  of  very  good  water?  I  have  my 
doubts  about  the  opal  and  the  sapphire.  But  as  to 
those  small  diamonds,  they  seemed  to  me  to  be  the 
real  thing." 

Having  reached  our  rooms  upstairs  we  bade  each 
other  good-night. 


E  led,  my  good  master  and  I,  a  se- 
cluded and  regular  life  until  the 
spring  came.  We  worked  all  morn- 
ing, shut  up  in  the  library,  and  we 
returned  there  after  dinner  as  to  the 
play — according  to  Monsieur  Je- 
rome Coignard's  expression;  not  in- 
deed, as  this  excellent  man  said,  to  witness  a  scurri- 
lous show,  after  the  manner  of  men  of  fashion  and 
lackeys,  but  to  hear  the  sublime  if  contradictory  dia- 
logues of  ancient  writers. 

In  this  way  the  reading  and  translation  of  the 
Panopolitan  advanced  wonderfully.  To  this  I 
scarcely  contributed.  Such  work  was  beyond  my 
knowledge,  and  it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to 
learn  the  shape  the  Greek  characters  took  on  papy- 
rus. At  the  same  time  I  helped  my  master  to  con- 
sult the  authors  who  could  throw  light  on  his  re- 
searches, particularly  Olympiodorus  and  Photius,* 
who  since  then  have  ever  remained  familiar  to  me. 
The  little  help  I  gave  him  raised  me  much  in  my 
own  estimation. 

After  a  long  and  bitter  winter  I  was  in  a  fair 
way  to  become  a  savant,  when  the  spring  came  all 
at  once  with  her  gay  train  of  sunshine,  of  tender 

*  Photius.  His  elevation  to  the  Patriarchate  of  Constantinople 
caused  a  great  schism.  He  was  deposed  by  Basilius,  recalled  and 
a  second  time  deposed  by  Leo  in  886.  He  wrote  "Myrobiblon," 
a  work  containing  a  summary  of  280  different  authors,  and  his 
collection  of  the  Canons  of  the  Church,  his  Letters,  and  his  Lexi- 
con are  also  famous. 

79 


8o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

green,  and  the  song  of  birds.  The  scent  of  the  li- 
lac which  mounted  into  the  library  made  me  fall 
to  vague  dreamings  from  which  my  good  master 
brusquely  dragged  me,  saying  to  me: 

"Jacquot  Tournebroche,  climb  up  the  ladder  if 
you  please,  and  tell  me  if  that  rogue  of  a  Mane- 
tho  *  does  not  speak  of  a  god  Imhotep,  who  with 
his  contradictions  torments  me  like  a  fiend?" 

And  my  good  master  charged  his  nose  with  snuff 
with  an  air  of  much  content. 

"My  son,"  he  said  further,  "it  is  to  be  remarked 
that  our  clothes  have  great  influence  on  our  moral 
being.  Since  my  clerical  collar  is  all  spotted  with 
different  sauces  that  I  have  let  drop  on  it  I  do  not 
feel  so  worthy  a  man.  Tournebroche,  now  you  are 
clad  like  a  marquis,  are  you  not  tickled  with  the 
desire  to  assist  at  an  opera  dancer's  toilet,  and  to 
push  a  roll  of  false  notes  on  to  a  faro-table?  In 
one  word,  don't  you  feel  yourself  a  man  of  quality? 
Do  not  take  what  I  say  in  bad  part,  and  remember 
that  it  is  sufficient  to  give  a  coward  a  bear-skin  cap 
to  make  him  go  and  get  his  head  broken  in  the 
king's  service.  Tournebroche,  our  feelings  are 
made  up  of  a  thousand  things  which  escape  us  by 
their  very  minuteness,  and  the  destiny  of  our  im- 
mortal soul  depends  sometimes  on  a  breath  too 
light  to  bend  a  blade  of  grass.  We  are  the  play- 
thing of  the  winds.  But  hand  me,  I  beg  you,  the 
rudiments  of  Vossius  t  whose  red  edges  I  see  gap- 
ing open  under  your  left  arm." 

That  day,  after  the  three  o'clock  dinner,  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  took  my  good  master  and  myself 
for  a  walk  in  the  park.  He  led  us  to  the  west  side, 

•Manetho.     Egyptian   historian,   3rd   century,    B.C. 

j,  G.  J.     German  savant,  b.  Heidelberg,  1577-1649. 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  81 

which  looked  out  on  Rueil  and  Mt.  Valerian.  It 
was  the  most  withdrawn  and  the  loneliest.  Ivy, 
and  grass  close-cropped  by  the  rabbits,  covered  the 
alleys,  which  were  blocked  here  and  there  by  huge 
trunks  of  dead  trees.  The  marble  statues  on 
either  side  smiled,  knowing  nothing  of  their  ruin. 
A  Nymph  with  her  broken  hand  to  her  lips  signed 
to  a  shepherd  to  be  discreet.  A  young  Faun,  whose 
head  lay  on  the  ground,  still  sought  his  lips  with  his 
flute.  And  all  these  beings  of  divinity  seemed  to 
teach  us  to  despise  the  hurts  of  time  and  fortune. 
We  followed  the  banks  of  a  canal  where  the  rain- 
water refreshed  the  small  green  frogs.  At  one 
point,  around  the  juncture  of  several  alleys,  were 
sloping  fountains  where  the  wood-pigeons  drank. 
Having  come  to  this  spot  we  took  a  narrow  path  cut 
in  the  underwood. 

"Walk  carefully,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 
"This  path  is  dangerous,  for  it  is  bordered  with 
mandragoras  who  sing  at  nightfall  at  the  foot  of 
the  trees.  They  are  hidden  in  the  ground.  Take 
care  not  to  step  on  them,  you  would  either  take  a 
love-sickness  or  a  thirst  for  riches,  and  you  would 
be  lost,  for  the  passions  inspired  by  the  mandra- 
gora  are  melancholy." 

I  asked  him  how  we  could  possibly  avoid  this  un- 
seen danger.  Monsieur  d'Astarac  replied  that  one 
could  escape  it  by  divining  it  intuitively  and  not  oth- 
erwise. 

"Anyway,"  he  added,  "this  path  is  fateful." 

It  led  straight  to  a  brick  cottage  hidden  in  ivy, 
which  had  doubtless  once  served  as  a  keeper's  lodge. 
Here  the  park  terminated  on  the  monotonous 
marshes  of  the  Seine. 

"You  see  this  cottage,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 


82  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"It  has  in  its  keeping  the  wisest  of  men.  There  it 
is  that  Mosa'ide,  now  aged  one  hundred  and  twelve 
years,  penetrates  with  a  persistency  that  has  a  maj- 
esty of  its  own  to  the  arcana  of  nature.  He  has 
left  Imbonatus  *  and  Bartolini  t  far  behind  him. 
I  desired  to  honour  myself  by  entertaining  under 
my  roof  the  greatest  of  cabalists  since  Enoch  the 
son  of  Cain.  But  religious  scruples  prevent  Mo- 
saTde from  sitting  at  my  table  which  he  holds  for 
Christian — in  which  he  does  it  too  much  honour. 
You  cannot  conceive  to  what  extremity  of  violence 
this  sage  carries  his  hatred  of  Christians.  It  is  un- 
der great  persuasion  only  that  he  consents  to  in- 
habit this  cottage  where  he  lives  alone  with  his 
niece  Jael.  Messieurs,  you  must  no  longer 
delay  in  making  his  acquaintance,  and  I  will 
present  you  both  immediately  to  this  inspired 
being." 

Having  spoken  thus,  Monsieur  d'Astarac  pushed 
us  into  the  cottage  and  made  us  climb  up  a  spiral 
staircase  to  a  room  where,  in  the  midst  of  scattered 
manuscripts  in  a  great  winged  chair,  sat  an  aged 
man,  bright-eyed,  hook-nosed,  whose  sloping  chin 
let  fall  two  thin  streamers  of  white  beard.  A  vel- 
vet cap,  shaped  like  a  cap  of  state,  covered  his 
bald  head,  and  his  body  so  thin  as  to  be  scarcely  hu- 
man, was  wrapped  in  an  old  yellow  silk  gown,  splen- 
did but  soiled. 

Although  his  piercing  gaze  was  turned  towards 
us,  he  showed  no  sign  of  being  aware  of  our  ap- 
proach. His  face  showed  a  painful  stubbornness 

» Imbonatus  (Jos.).  His  "Bibliotheca  Latina-Hebraica"  was  pub- 
lished at  Rome  1694. 

t  Bartolini,  Riccardo.  B.  Perugia  I5th  century.  Controversy 
with  Pico  della  Mirandola. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  83 

and  he  twisted  slowly  between  his  wrinkled  fingers 
the  reed  which  served  him  as  a  pen. 

"Do  not  expect  empty  words  from  Mosaide," 
said  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 

"For  many  a  long  day  this  sage  has  discoursed 
with  no  one  save  the  Genii  and  myself.  His  dis- 
course is  sublime.  As  he  will  doubtless  not  consent 
to  converse  with  you,  Messieurs,  I  will  give  you  in 
a  few  words  an  idea  of  his  worth.  Firstly,  he  has 
penetrated  to  the  spiritual  meaning  of  the  books  of 
Moses  in  accordance  with  the  value  of  the  Hebrew 
characters,  which  depend  on  the  order  of  the  letters 
in  the  alphabet.  This  order  had  been  upset  after 
the  eleventh  letter.  Mosaide  has  re-established  it, 
which  Atrabis,  Philo,*  Avicenna,t  Raymond  Lul- 
ly,J  Pico  della  Mirandola,§  Reuchlin,||  Henry 
More,  and  Robert  Fludd  were  unable  to  do.  Mo- 
saide knows  the  golden  number  which  corresponds 
to  Jehovah  in  the  spirit-world.  And  you  will  un- 
derstand, Messieurs,  that  that  is  of  infinite  im- 
portance." 

My  good  master  drew  his  box  from  his  pocket 
and  after  offering  it  civilly  to  us  inhaled  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  said: 

"Do  you  not  think,  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  that 
these  attainments  are  extremely  likely  to  guide  you 
to  the  devil  at  the  end  of  this  transitory  life?  For 
this  Seigneur  Mosaide  errs  palpably  in  his  interpre- 
tation of  Holy  Writ.  When  Our  Saviour  died  on 

*  Philo  (surnamed  the  Jew).     Philosopher,  b.  Alexandria,  20  B.C. 

•(•  Avicenna.     Arabic  physician,  980-1037. 

$Lully,  Raymond.  Spanish  writer,  alchemist,  known  as  "Doctor 
illuminatus,"  b.  Parma,  1255-1315. 

§Mirandola,  Giovanni  Pico  della.  Italian  scholar,  wrote  "De 
omni  re  scibili,"  1463-1494. 

||  Reuchlin,  Johann.     Savant,  humanist,  b.  Pforzheim,   1455-1522. 


84  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

the  Cross  for  the  redemption  of  mankind,  the  syna- 
gogue felt  a  bandage  tighten  over  her  eyes,  she  tot- 
tered like  a  drunken  woman,  and  her  crown  fell 
from  her  head.  Since  then  the  interpretation  of 
the  Old  Testament  has  been  relegated  to  the  Cath- 
olic Church,  to  which  I  belong  notwithstanding  my 
multiple  sins." 

At  these  words  Mosalde,  looking  like  a  Satyr, 
smiled  in  a  manner  truly  terrifying,  and  addressed 
my  good  master  in  a  slow  grating  far-away  voice: 

"The  Mashora  has  not  confided  its  secrets  to 
you,  nor  the  Mischna  *  its  mysteries." 

"Mosai'de,"  continued  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "in- 
terprets clearly  not  only  the  books  of  Moses  but 
that  of  Enoch,  which  is  much  more  important,  and 
which  for  lack  of  understanding  the  Christians  have 
rejected,  as  the  cock  in  the  Arabian  fable  disdained 
the  pearl  fallen  in  his  food.  This  book  of  Enoch, 
Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard,  is  the  more  precious  as 
one  finds  therein  the  first  dealings  of  the  daughters 
of  men  and  the  Sylphs.  For  you  well  understand 
that  these  angels  whom  Enoch  shows  us  as  allying 
themselves  with  women  in  amorous  intercourse  are 
Sylphs  and  Salamanders." 

"I  am  ready  to  understand  it  that  way,"  replied 
my  good  master,  "so  as  not  to  annoy  you.  But  by 
what  has  been  left  to  us  of  the  book  of  Enoch, 
which  is  visibly  apocryphal,  I  suspect  that  those 
angels  were  not  Sylphs,  but  Phoenician  merchants." 

"And  on  what,  may  I  ask,  do  you  found  such  a 
strange  opinion?"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 

"I  found  it,  Monsieur,  on  this,  that  it  says  in  this 
book  that  it  was  the  angels  who  taught  to  women 
the  usage  of  bracelets  and  necklaces,  the  art  of 

*  Mashora  and  Mischna.    Books  of  the  Talmud. 


THF  REINE  PEDAUQUE  85 

painting  their  eyebrows,  and  of  using  all  kinds  of 
dyes.  It  is  also  recounted  in  this  book  that  the  an- 
gels taught  to  the  daughters  of  men  the  properties 
of  roots  and  trees,  charms  and  the  art  of  star- 
gazing. In  all  good  faith,  Monsieur,  have  not 
these  angels  rather  the  look  of  Tyrians  or  Sidon- 
ians  disembarking  on  some  half-wild  coast,  and  un- 
doing at  the  foot  of  the  rocks  their  corded  bales  to 
tempt  the  daughters  of  the  savage  tribes?  These 
traffickers  gave  them  collarettes  of  copper,  amulets 
and  medicaments  in  exchange  for  amber,  incense 
and  furs,  and  they  amazed  these  handsome  ignorant 
creatures  by  their  talk  of  the  stars  with  a  knowledge 
gained  in  navigation.  That  is  all  quite  straight- 
forward, and  I  should  like  to  know  on  what  point 
Monsieur  Mosaide  can  gainsay  it." 

Mosai'de  kept  silence,  and  Monsieur  d'Astarac 
smiled  once  more.  "Monsieur  Coignard,"  said  he 
"you  do  not  argue  badly,  ignorant  as  you  are  still  of 
gnosticism  and  cabalism.  What  you  say  makes  me 
think  that  there  may  have  been  some  gnomes  who 
were  metal-workers  and  goldsmiths  among  the 
Sylphs  who  united  themselves  in  love  with  the 
daughters  of  men.  Gnomes,  in  fact,  readily  busy 
themselves  with  goldsmiths'  work,  and  probably 
ingenious  demons  wrought  those  bracelets  you  think 
were  of  Phoenician  manufacture.  But  you  will  suf- 
fer some  disadvantages,  I  warn  you  Monsieur,  in 
measuring  yourself  with  Mosaide  in  the  knowledge 
of  human  antiquities.  He  has  found  remains 
thought  to  be  lost,  among  others  the  column  of  Seth 
and  the  oracles  of  Sambethe,  daughter  of  Noah, 
and  the  most  ancient  of  the  Sibyls." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  my  good  master,  bounding  on 
the  dusty  floor,  whence  arose  a  cloud  of  dust,  "oh ! 


86  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

what  moonshine!  It  is  too  much  of  a  good  thing! 
You  are  laughing  at  me.  And  Monsieur  Mosaide 
cannot  house  so  many  follies  in  his  head  under  his 
big  cap,  which  looks  like  Charlemagne's  crown. 
This  column  of  Seth  is  a  ridiculous  invention  of  that 
thickhead  Flavius-Josephus,  an  absurd  tale  which 
has  never  yet  deceived  any  one  but  you.  As  to  the 
predictions  of  Sambethe,  the  daughter  of  Noah,  I 
should  be  very  curious  to  know  them,  and  Monsieur 
Mosaide,  who  seems  sparing  enough  of  his  words, 
would  oblige  me  greatly  by  giving  us  a  few  by  word 
of  mouth,  for  it  is  not  possible  for  him,  I  am  glad 
to  see,  to  utter  them  by  the  more  hidden  way 
through  which  the  ancient  Sibyls  were  accustomed 
to  give  utterance  to  their  mysterious  replies." 

Mosaide,  who  appeared  not  to  have  heard  any- 
thing, suddenly  said:  "The  daughter  of  Noah  has 
spoken;  Sambethe  has  said:  'The  foolish  man  who 
laughs  and  mocks  shall  not  hear  the  voice  coming 
from  the  seventh  tabernacle;  and  the  impious  shall 
go  wretchedly  to  his  ruin.'  " 

On  this  utterance  all  three  of  us  took  leave  of 
Mosaide. 


XI 


HAT  year  the  summer  was  glorious, 
whence  came  a  wish  to  wander 
afield.  One  day,  as  I  strolled  under 
the  trees  of  the  Cours-la-Reine,  with 
two  poor  ecus  that  I  had  found  that 
morning  in  my  breeches'  pocket,  and 
which  were  the  first  visible  sign  so 
far  of  my  alchemist's  munificence,  I  took  a  seat  at  the 
door  of  a  coffee-house  at  a  table  whose  small  size 
befitted  my  solitude  and  my  modesty,  and  there  I  fell 
a-thinking  of  the  oddness  of  my  fate,  while  on  either 
side  of  me  mousquetaires  and  gay  ladies  drank  the 
wine  of  Spain.  I  questioned  whether  the  Cross  of 
Les  Sablons,  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  Mosaide,  the 
papyrus  of  Zozimus  and  my  fine  coat  were  not  all 
dreams  from  which  I  should  awake  to  find  myself 
in  dimity  before  the  spit  at  the  Reine  Pedauque. 
I  came  out  of  my  dream  on  feeling  myself  pulled  by 
the  sleeve.  And  I  saw  before  me  brother  Ange, 
whose  face  was  lost  between  his  cowl  and  his  beard. 
"Monsieur  Jacques  Menetrier,"  said  he,  in  a  low 
voice,  "a  young  lady  who  means  you  well  awaits 
you  in  her  carriage  on  the  road  between  the  river 
and  the  Porte  de  la  Conference." 

My  heart  beat  loudly.  Startled  and  charmed 
with  the  adventure,  I  went  immediately  to  the  spot 
indicated  by  the  capuchin,  walking  nevertheless  with 
the  measured  step  which  seemed  best  to  become  me. 
Arrived  on  the  quay  I  saw  a  coach  and  a  little  white 
hand  on  the  edge  of  the  door. 
87 


88  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

The  door  opened  on  my  approach,  and  I  was  ex- 
tremely surprised  to  find  Mam'selle  Catherine  in 
the  coach,  in  a  rose-coloured  satin  dress,  her  head 
covered  with  a  hood,  her  blond  hair  intermingled 
with  the  black  lace. 

Dumbfounded  I  hesitated  at  the  step. 

"Come  in,"  she  said,  "and  sit  by  me.  Close  the 
door,  I  pray  you.  You  must  not  be  seen.  A  mo- 
ment ago,  in  passing  by  the  Cours,  I  saw  you  at 
the  coffee-house.  I  immediately  sent  the  good 
brother  to  fetch  you.  I  engaged  him  for  my  lenten 
practices,  and  I  have  kept  him  with  me  since,  for  in 
whatever  condition  one  may  be  placed,  one  must 
cling  to  religion.  You  looked  very  well,  Monsieur 
Jacques,  seated  before  your  little  table,  your  sword 
across  your  knees,  wearing  the  melancholy  air  of  a 
man  of  quality.  I  have  always  had  a  friendly  feel- 
ing for  you,  and  I  am  not  one  of  those  women,  who, 
in  prosperity,  despise  their  former  friends." 

"Eh,  what!  Mam'selle  Catherine,"  I  exclaimed, 
"this  coach,  these  lackeys,  this  satin  dress — " 

"All  come,"  said  she,  "from  the  kindness  of 
Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude,  who  is  in  the  Revenue 
department,  and  is  one  of  our  richest  financiers. 
He  has  advanced  money  to  the  king.  He  is  a  good 
friend,  whom  I  would  not  vex  for  anything  in  the 
world.  But  he  is  not  as  agreeable  as  you,  Mon- 
sieur Jacques.  He  has  also  given  me  a  small  house 
at  Crenelle,  which  I  will  show  you  one  day  from 
attic  to  cellar.  Monsieur  Jacques,  I  am  very 
pleased  to  see  you  on  the  road  to  making  your  for- 
tune. You  shall  see  my  bedroom,  which  is  a  copy 
of  that  of  Mademoiselle  Davilliers.  It  is  all  mir- 
rors and  china  ornaments.  How  is  your  good  fa- 
ther? Between  ourselves,  he  neglected  his  wife 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  89 

and  his  cook-shop  a  little.  It  is  exceedingly  wrong 
in  a  man  of  his  position.  But  let  us  talk  of  you." 

"Let  us  talk  of  you,  Mam'selle  Catherine,"  said 
I  at  last.  "You  are  very  pretty,  and  it  is  a  great 
pity  that  you  are  so  very  fond  of  capuchins.  For 
one  must  forgive  you  your  Farmers-general." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "do  not  reproach  me  with 
brother  Ange.  I  only  keep  him  for  my  soul's  good, 
and  if  I  gave  Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude  a  rival  it 
would  be — " 

"It  would  be?" 

"Do  not  ask  me,  Monsieur  Jacques.  You  are 
ungrateful.  For  you  know  I  always  singled  you 
out.  But  you  took  no  notice  of  it." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  was  alive  to  your  mockery, 
Mam'selle  Catherine.  You  made  me  ashamed  of 
my  beardless  chin.  You  told  me  many  a  time  that  I 
was  a  little  stupid." 

"  'Twas  true,  Monsieur  Jacques,  truer  than  you 
thought.  Why  did  you  not  guess  that  I  meant  you 
well?" 

"And  you,  Catherine,  why  were  you  so  intimi- 
datingly  pretty?  I  dared  not  look  at  you.  And 
then  I  saw  one  day  that  you  were  downright  vexed 
with  me." 

"I  had  reason  to  be  so,  Monsieur  Jacques.  You 
preferred  that  Savoyarde  with  her  handkerchief 
round  her  head,  the  very  dregs  of  the  Port  St. 
Nicholas." 

"Oh,  do  believe,  Catherine,  that  it  was  neither 
taste  nor  inclination,  but  merely  because  she  took 
strong  means  to  conquer  my  bashfulness." 

"Ah,  my  friend,  believe  me  who  am  your  senior, 
bashfulness  is  a  great  sin  against  love.  But  could 
you  not  see  that  beggar  had  holes  in  her  stockings 


90  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

and  a  flounce  of  mud  and  dirt  half  an  ell  wide  at 
the  hem  of  her  skirt?" 

"I  saw  it,  Catherine." 

"Did  you  not  see,  Jacques,  that  she  was  badly 
made,  and  what's  worse,  positively  deformed?" 

"I  saw  it,  Catherine." 

"You  could  actually  love  that  beggar  of  a  Sa- 
voyarde,  you  with  your  fair  skin  and  distinguished 
manners." 

"I  cannot  understand  it  myself,  Catherine.  It 
must  have  been  that  at  the  time  my  fancy  was  full  of 
you.  And  if  the  mere  thought  of  you  gave  me  the 
hardihood  and  courage  with  which  you  reproach  me 
to-day,  judge  of  my  transports,  Catherine,  if  I  had 
held  you  in  my  arms,  or  even  a  girl  a  little  like  you. 
For  I  loved  you  dearly." 

She  took  my  hand  and  sighed.  I  continued  in  a 
melancholy  tone:  "Yes,  I  loved  you,  Catherine, 
and  I  should  love  you  still  were  it  not  for  that  dis- 
gusting monk." 

She  defended  herself: 

"What  a  suspicion.  You  make  me  cross.  It  is 
absurd." 

"You  do  not  love  capuchins?" 

"Fie!" 

Not  considering  it  opportune  to  press  her  too 
closely  on  the  subject,  I  took  her  by  the  waist,  we 
kissed  one  another,  our  lips  met,  and  I  felt  my 
whole  being  dissolve  in  delight.  After  a  moment 
of  delicious  abandon,  she  disengaged  herself,  her 
cheeks  pink,  eyes  dewy  and  lips  half-open.  From 
that  moment  I  have  known  how  much  a  woman  is 
beautified  and  adorned  by  the  kisses  one  puts  on  her 
lips.  Mine  had  made  roses  of  the  most  delicate 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  91 

tint  bloom  on  Catherine's  cheeks,  and  drowned  the 
blue  flower  of  her  eyes  in  sparkling  dew. 

"You  are  a  child,"  she  said,  replacing  her  hood. 
"Go  along  with  you,  You  must  not  stay  a  moment 
longer.  Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude  will  be  here 
directly.  He  loves  me  with  an  impatience  that  is 
apt  to  forestall  the  hour  of  the  appointment." 

Then  reading  on  my  face  the  disappointment  I 
felt,  she  pursued  with  tender  vivacity: 

"But  listen,  Jacques:  he  goes  home  every  evening 
at  nine  o'clock  to  his  old  wife,  who  has  become 
peevish  with  years,  and  no  longer  permits  his  infi- 
delities now  that  she  is  beyond  the  possibility  of 
paying  them  back.  Her  jealousy  has  become  some- 
thing terrible.  Come  at  half-past  nine  to-night.  I 
will  receive  you.  My  house  is  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  du  Bac.  You  will  know  it  by  its  three  win- 
dows on  every  floor  and  its  rose-covered  balcony. 
You  know  I  have  always  loved  flowers.  Till  to- 
night." 

She  put  me  from  her  with  caressing  gesture 
wherein  she  seemed  to  show  her  sorrow  that  I  might 
not  stay;  then,  finger  on  lips,  she  whispered  once 
more: 

"Till  to-night." 


XII 

DO  not  know  how  I  managed  to  tear 
myself  away  from  Catherine's  arms. 
But  it  is  certain  that,  in  jumping  out 
of  the  coach  I  nearly  fell  over  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  whose  tall  figure  was 
planted  like  a  tree  on  the  edge  of  the 
path.     I    saluted    him   politely   and 
evinced  my  surprise  at  so  happy  a  chance. 

"Chance,"  said  he,  "diminishes  in  proportion  as 
knowledge  is  augmented:  for  me  it  does  not  exist. 
I  knew,  my  son  that  I  was  to  meet  you  here.  I 
must  have  an  interview  with  you  which  has  been  too 
long  deferred.  Let  us,  if  you  please,  go  in  search 
of  that  solitude  and  silence  necessary  to  the  speech 
I  wish  to  have  with  you.  Do  not  look  anxious. 
The  mysteries  that  I  shall  unveil  to  you  are  sub- 
lime, it  is  true,  but  of  a  pleasing  nature." 

Having  thus  spoken  he  led  me  to  the  banks  of 
the  Seine  hard  by  the  Isle  of  Swans,  which  lifted 
itself  in  mid-stream  like  a  leafy  barque.  There  he 
signalled  the  ferry-man  whose  shallop  bore  us  to 
the  verdant  isle,  frequented  only  by  a  few  pension- 
ers who  on  fine  days  played  at  bowls  and  drank 
their  glass  of  beer.  Night  lit  her  first  stars  in  the 
sky  and  gave  voice  to  the  insects  in  the  grass.  The 
isle  was  deserted.  Monsieur  d'Astarac  sat  down 
on  a  wooden  bench  in  a  clearing  at  the  end  of  a 
grove  of  walnuts,  invited  me  to  sit  down  by  him 
and  spoke  in  these  words: 

"There  are  three  kinds  of  people,  my  son,  from 
92 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  93 

whom  the  philosopher  must  hide  his  secrets.  They 
are  princes,  because  it  would  not  be  prudent  to  add 
to  their  might;  the  ambitious,  whose  pitiless  driv- 
ing power  wants  no  re-inforcement;  and  the  de- 
bauched, who  would  find  in  the  hidden  knowledge 
the  means  of  glutting  their  worst  passions.  But  I 
may  bare  my  mind  to  you  who  are  neither  de- 
bauched, for  I  think  nothing  of  the  slip  whereby 
a  moment  ago  you  fell  into  the  arms  of 
that  young  woman,  nor  ambitious,  having  lived 
till  now  content  to  turn  the  paternal  spit.  I  can 
then  without  fear  unfold  to  you  the  hidden 
laws  of  the  universe.  You  must  not  suppose 
that  life  is  confined  within  the  narrow  condition 
in  which  it  manifests  itself  to  vulgar  eyes.  When 
they  teach  that  creation  had  man  for  end  and 
object,  your  theologians  and  philosophers  reason 
like  the  ground-lice  in  Versailles,  or  the  Tuileries, 
who  believe  that  the  damp  cellars  are  made  for 
them,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  chateau  is  quite  unin- 
habitable. The  solar  system,  taught  by  the  canon 
Copernicus  in  the  last  century,  following  Aristar- 
chus  of  Samos  and  the  Pythagorean  philosophers 
is,  no  doubt,  known  to  you,  for  they  have  even 
made  abridgements  of  it  for  the  use  of  urchins  at 
schools  and  dialogues  for  the  chatterboxes  in  town. 
You  have  seen  an  instrument  at  my  house  which 
demonstrates  it  perfectly  by  means  of  a  clock-work 
movement.  Look  up,  my  son,  and  see  above  your 
head  the  chariot  of  David  drawn  by  Mizar  and  his 
two  illustrious  companions  turning  round  the  Pole, 
Arcturus,  Vega  in  Lyra,  Spica  in  Virgo,  Ariadne's 
crown  and  its  lovely  pearl. 

"These  are  suns.     One  glance  at  the  world  will 
show  you  that  all  creation  is  a  work  of  fire  and  that 


94  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

life  under  its  highest  forms  must  be  nourished  by 
flame. 

"And  what  are  the  planets?  Specks  of  mud,  a 
little  scum  and  ferment.  Contemplate  the  stately 
choir  of  the  stars,  this  gathering  of  suns.  They 
equal  or  surpass  our  own  in  grandeur  and  in  power, 
and  when,  some  clear  winter  night,  I  show  you 
Sirius  through  my  glass,  your  eyes  and  your  soul 
will  be  dazzled. 

"Can  you  really,  believe  that  Sirius,  Altair,  Reg- 
ulus,  Aldebaran,  all  these  suns  indeed,  are  merely 
luminaries?  Can  you  believe  that  old  Phoebus, 
who  pours  incessantly  through  space,  wherein  we 
swim,  his  immeasurable  floods  of  heat  and  light, 
has  no  other  function  than  to  illuminate  the  earth 
and  a  few  other  imperceptible  and  contemptible 
planets?  What  a  candle!  A  million  time  bigger 
than  the  house ! 

"I  have  been  obliged  to  give  you  the  idea  to  start 
with  that  the  Universe  is  composed  of  suns,  and 
that  the  planets  that  may  be  found  there  are  less 
than  nothing.  But  I  foresee  that  you  would  raise 
an  objection,  and  I  will  reply  to  it.  These  suns  you 
were  going  to  say  burn  out  in  the  course  of  ages 
and  become  as  dirt  in  their  turn. 

"Not  so!  I  reply,  for  they  are  sustained  by  the 
comets  that  they  draw  to  them  and  which  fall  into 
them.  They  are  the  habitation  of  the  real  life. 
The  planets  and  this  earth  in  which  we  live  are  but 
the  dwelling-places  of  larvae.  Such  are  the  truths 
which  you  must  first  absorb. 

"Now  that  you  understand,  my  son,  that  fire  ex- 
cels every  other  element,  you  will  better  grasp  what 
I  am  about  to  explain  to  you,  which  is  of  more  im- 
portance than  anything  you  have  learnt  up  to  now 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  95 

and  even  more  than  was  ever  known  to  Erasmus, 
Turnebus,  and  Scaliger.  I  will  not  refer  to  theo- 
logians like  Quesnel  *  or  Bossuet,  who,  between  our 
selves,  are  but  of  the  dregs  of  humanity's  intelli- 
gence, and  have  scarcely  more  understanding  than  a 
captain  of  horse.  We  will  not  lose  time  in  despis- 
ing such  brains  comparable  in  size  and  contents  to 
wren's  eggs,  and  we  will  come  at  once  to  the  sub- 
ject of  my  talk. 

"Whereas  creatures  formed  of  clay  do  not  sur- 
pass in  beauty  of  form  the  degree  of  perfection  at- 
tained by  Antinous  and  Madame  de  Parabere,  and 
the  faculty  of  knowledge  attained  only  by  Democri- 
tus  and  myself,  beings  formed  of  fire  enjoy  a  wis- 
dom and  an  understanding  whose  range  it  is  impos- 
sible for  us  to  compass. 

"Such,  my  son,  is  the  nature  of  the  glorious  chil- 
dren of  the  suns,  they  are  masters  of  the  laws  of 
the  universe,  as  we  of  the  rules  of  chess,  and  the 
course  of  the  stars  in  heaven  puzzles  them  no  more 
than  the  movement  on  the  chess-board  of  king, 
rook,  and  bishop,  trouble  us.  These  Genii  create 
worlds  in  corners  of  space  where  they  were  not  to 
be  found  before,  and  organise  them  to  their  lik- 
ing. It  affords  them  a  momentary  distraction  from 
their  chief  business  which  is  to  mate,  one  with  an- 
other, in  ineffable  love.  Yesterday  I  turned  my 
glass  on  the  sign  of  Virgo  and  there  I  observed  a 
distant  vortex  of  light.  No  doubt,  my  son,  but 
that  it  was  the  still  unformed  work  of  these  beings 
of  fire. 

"Truth  to  tell  the  universe  has  no  other  origin. 
Far  from  being  the  result  of  a  single  will,  it  is  the 

*  Quesnel,  Pasquier.     Jansenist   theologian,   b.   Par's.     His   writ- 
ings provoked  the  Bull  "Unigenitus."     1634-1719. 


96  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

result  of  a  sublime  caprice  of  a  great  number  of 
Genii  who  have  found  recreation  each  in  his  good 
time  and  in  his  own  way.  So  may  we  explain  the 
diversity,  the  magnificence  and  the  imperfection. 
For  the  powers  and  the  clairvoyance  of  these  Genii, 
though  immense,  have  limits.  I  should  deceive  you 
did  I  say  that  a  man,  were  he  philosopher  and  mage, 
could  enter  into  familiar  intercourse  with  them. 
No  one  of  them  has  ever  manifested  himself  to  me 
and  all  that  I  tell  you  of  them  is  known  to  me  but 
by  induction  and  hearsay.  Therefore,  although 
their  existence  is  certain  I  should  go  too  far  were  I 
to  describe  to  you  their  ways  and  their  character. 
We  must  know  our  own  ignorance,  my  son,  and  I 
pride  myself  on  advancing  but  fully  observed  facts. 
We  will  then  leave  these  Genii,  or  rather  these 
Demiurges  to  their  distant  glories  and  come  to  the 
illustrious  beings  who  concern  us  more  nearly. 
And  it  is  at  this  point,  my  son,  that  you  must  lend 
your  ear. 

"Speaking  to  you  a  moment  ago  of  the  planets,  if 
I  gave  way  to  a  sentiment  of  disdain  it  was  because 
I  was  merely  considering  the  skin  and  surface  of 
these  little  balls  or  tops  and  the  animals  which 
scramble  dismally  thereon.  I  should  have  used  an- 
other tone  if  my  mind  had  contemplated  along  with 
the  planets,  the  air  and  vapour  which  envelops 
them.  For  air  is  an  element  which  only  cedes  to 
fire  in  nobility,  whence  it  follows  that  the  dignity 
and  illustriousness  of  planets  is  in  the  air  which 
bathes  them.  These  mists,  these  clinging  vapours, 
these  zephyrs,  these  waves  of  blue,  these  moving 
isles  of  purple  and  gold,  which  pass  above  our 
heads,  are  the  home  of  a  worshipful  race.  We  call 
them  Sylphs  and  Salamanders.  They  are  creatures 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  97 

of  infinite  sweetness  and  beauty.  It  is  possible, 
and  it  is  fitting  for  us  to  form  with  them  unions, 
whose  delights  cannot  be  dreamt  of.  Salamanders 
are  of  such  a  kind  that  beside  them  the  prettiest 
person  in  town  or  at  court  is  but  a  repulsive  mon- 
key. They  yield  themselves  willing  to  philosophers. 
You  have  no  doubt  heard  tell  of  the  wondrous 
being  by  whom  Monsieur  Descartes  was  accom- 
panied on  his  travels.  Some  said  it  was  a  natural 
daughter  he  took  everywhere  with  him,  others 
thought  it  was  an  automaton  that  he  had  made 
with  inimitable  art.  In  reality  it  was  a  Salamander 
that  this  able  man  had  taken  for  his  lady-love.  He 
never  left  her.  On  one  of  his  passages  in  the 
Dutch  seas  he  took  her  on  board  shut  in  a  box  of 
precious  wood  lined  with  satin.  The  shape  of  this 
box  and  the  precautions  with  which  Monsieur  Des- 
cartes handled  it  drew  the  attention  of  the  captain, 
who,  when  Monsieur  Descartes  was  asleep,  lifted 
the  lid  and  discovered  the  Salamander.  This  ig- 
norant and  coarse  man  thought  that  so  marvel- 
lous a  being  must  be  the  devil's  handiwork.  For 
very  fear,  he  threw  her  in  the  sea.  But  as  you  can 
well  believe  the  beautiful  creature  was  not  drowned 
and  it  was  easy  for  her  to  rejoin  her  good  friend 
Monsieur  Descartes.  She  remained  faithful  to  him 
as  long  as  he  lived,  and  on  his  death  left  this  earth 
never  to  return. 

"I  cite  this  example  among  many  others  to  ac- 
quaint you  with  the  love  of  philosopher  and  Sala- 
mander. This  love  is  too  sublime  to  be  subjected 
to  contracts,  and  you  will  agree  that  the  ridiculous 
farrago  and  apparatus  of  our  marriage  would  not 
be  the  right  thing  in  such  unions.  Truly,  it  would 
be  a  pretty  thing  if  a  bewigged  notary  and  a  fat 


98  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

cure  were  to  put  their  noses  into  it !  These  gentle- 
men are  fit  only  to  set  the  seal  to  the  vulgar  union 
of  man  and  woman.  The  hymeneals  of  Salaman- 
der and  sage  are  borne  witness  to  in  more  august 
fashion.  They  are  celebrated  by  the  aerial  peo- 
ples in  aery  navies,  which,  borne  on  gentle  zephyrs, 
glide  on  invisible  waves  to  the  sound  of  harps,  their 
poops  bedecked  with  roses.  But  do  not  run  away 
with  the  notion  that  because  they  are  not  inscribed 
in  a  thumbed  register  in  a  dirty  sacristy  such  troth 
is  not  enduring,  or  may  be  broken  with  facility. 
The  Spirits  are  its  sureties,  who  sport  among  the 
clouds,  whence  flashes  the  lightning  and  bursts  the 
thunder.  I  make  revelations  which  will  be  of  use 
to  you,  my  son,  for  I  have  already  recognised  by 
indications  not  to  be  mistaken  that  you  are  destined 
for  the  bed  of  a  Salamander." 

"Alas!  Monsieur,"  I  cried,  "this  destiny  ter- 
rifies me,  and  my  scruples  on  the  subject  are  nearly 
as  great  as  those  of  the  Dutch  captain  who  threw 
Monsieur  Descartes's  pretty  friend  into  the  sea.  I 
cannot  help  thinking  as  did  he  that  these  aerial 
ladies  are  demons!  I  should  fear  to  lose  my  soul 
for  them,  for,  in  fine,  Monsieur,  such  marriages  are 
contrary  to  nature,  and  opposed  to  divine  law. 
Would  that  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard,  my  good 
master,  could  hear  you !  I  am  quite  certain  that  he 
would  uphold  me  with  good  arguments  against  the 
seductions  of  your  Salamanders,  and  against  your 
eloquence." 

"Abbe  Coignard,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac, 
"translates  Greek  admirably.  Let  him  stick  to  his 
books.  He  is  no  philosopher.  As  for  you,  my 
son,  you  argue  with  the  feebleness  of  ignorance, 
and  the  weakness  of  your  arguments  afflicts  me. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  99 

These  unions  you  say  are  contrary  to  nature. 
What  do  you  know  about  it?  And  what  means  can 
you  have  of  knowing  about  it?  How  is  it  possible 
to  distinguish  what  is  natural  from  what  is  not? 
Do  we  know  enough  of  universal  Isis  to  discern  what 
is  in  accord  with  her  and  what  runs  counter  to  her? 
But  let  us  put  it  better;  nothing  runs  counter  to  her, 
and  all  is  in  accord,  for  nothing  exists  which  does 
not  enter  into  the  play  of  her  organism  nor  follow 
the  innumerable  poses  of  her  body.  Whence,  I  ask 
you,  could  enemies  come  who  would  offend  her? 
Nothing  acts  against  her  or  without  her,  and  forces 
that  seem  to  work  against  her  are  but  manifesta- 
tions of  her  own  life. 

"Only  the  ignorant  can  have  sufficient  assurance 
to  say  whether  an  action  be  natural  or  not.  But 
let  us  for  a  moment  enter  into  their  point  of  view 
and  their  prejudice,  and  pretend  to  allow  that  it  is 
possible  to  commit  acts  against  nature.  Will  these 
acts  on  that  account  be  bad,  or  must  they  be  con- 
demned? I  am  prepared  to  hear  on  this  point  the 
common  opinion  of  moralists  who  represent  virtue 
as  a  restraint  on  instincts,  an  effort  against  the  in- 
clination that  we  all  have  in  us,  a  struggle  in  fact 
against  the  original  man.  By  their  own  showing 
virtue  is  contrary  to  nature,  and  from  this  it  pro- 
ceeds that  they  cannot  condemn  an  action,  whatever 
it  may  be,  for  what  it  has  in  common  with  virtue. 

"I  have  made  this  digression,  my  son,  to  the  end 
that  I  might  show  you  the  pitiable  frivolity  of  your 
arguments.  I  cannot  insult  you  by  believing  that 
you  have  any  remaining  doubts  on  the  innocence  of 
the  carnal  intercourse  that  men  may  hold  with  Sala- 
manders. Know  henceforth,  that  far  from  being 
forbidden  by  the  laws  of  religion,  such  marriages 


ioo  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

are  ordained  by  that  law  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
others.  I  will  now  give  you  manifest  proof." 

He  stopped  speaking,  took  his  box  from  his 
pocket,  and  helped  his  nose  to  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

Night  had  fallen.  The  moon  shed  her  liquid 
light  on  the  river  which  shimmered  beneath  it, 
touched  too  with  the  glancing  light  of  the  lamps. 
Flights  of  gnats  swarmed  round  us  in  airy  spirals. 
Shrill  insect  voices  rose  amid  the  universal  silence. 
Such  sweetness  fell  from  heaven  that  the  starlight 
seemed  to  be  suffused  with  milk. 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  continued  in  this  wise : 

"The  Bible,  my  son,  and  principally  the  books  of 
Moses  contain  great  and  useful  truths.  This  opin- 
ion seems  absurd  and  unreasonable  in  consequence 
of  the  treatment  that  theologians  have  meted  out 
to  what  they  call  the  Scripture,  which  by  their 
commentaries,  explanations,  and  meditations,  they 
have  made  a  manual  of  mistakes,  a  volume  of  ab- 
surdities, a  storehouse  of  imbecilities,  a  collection 
of  lies,  a  string  of  follies,  a  school  of  ignorance,  a 
treasury  of  everything  inept,  and  the  lumber-room 
for  all  stupidity  and  wickedness.  You  must  know 
that  it  was  in  its  origin  a  temple  of  celestial  light. 

"I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  re-establish  it 
in  pristine  splendour.  And  truth  compels  me  to 
state  that  Mosaide  has  greatly  helped  me  by  his 
understanding  of  the  language  and  alphabet  of  the 
Hebrews.  But  do  not  let  us  lose  sight  of  our  main 
subject.  Learn,  first  of  all,  that  the  meaning  of 
the  Bible  is  figurative,  and  that  the  chief  error  of 
theologians  has  been  to  take  literally  what  must  be 
understood  as  symbolical.  Bear  that  truth  in  mind 
throughout  the  rest  of  my  discourse. 

"When  the  Demiurge  we  call  Jehovah,  who  also 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  101 

possesses  many  other  names  since  we  apply  to  him 
generally  all  the  terms  expressing  quantity  and 
quality,  had,  I  do  not  say  created  the  world,  for 
that  would  be  a  foolish  thing  to  say,  but  made 
straight  a  little  corner  of  the  universe  to  make  a 
dwelling-place  for  Adam  and  Eve,  there  were  to  be 
found  in  space  creatures  of  a  subtle  nature  which 
Jehovah  had  not  formed — would  have  been  inca- 
pable of  forming.  They  were  the  work  of  various 
other  Demiurges  more  ancient  than  he  and  more 
cunning.  His  artifice  did  not  yet  go  beyond  that 
of  a  very  able  potter  capable  of  moulding  beings, 
such  as  we  are,  in  clay,  as  you  fashion  pots.  What 
I  say  of  him  is  not  to  depreciate  him,  for  such  a 
work  is  still  far  beyond  human  power. 

"But  one  cannot  fail  to  notice  the  inferior  quality 
of  the  work  of  the  seven  days.  Jehovah  worked, 
not  in  fire  which  alone  gives  birth  to  master-pieces 
of  life,  but  in  clay  wherefrom  he  could  produce  but 
the  handiwork  of  a  clever  ceramist.  We  are 
nothing,  my  son,  but  animated  pottery.  One  can- 
not reproach  Jehovah  with  having  any  illusions  about 
his  work.  If  he  found  it  good  at  first  and  in  the 
ardour  of  composition,  he  was  not  slow  in  recognis- 
ing his  error,  and  the  Bible  is  full  of  the  expression 
of  his  discontent,  which  often  grew  to  ill-humour 
and  sometimes  even  to  anger.  Never  did  artisan 
treat  objects  produced  by  his  industry  with  more 
disgust  and  aversion.  He  thought  of  destroying 
them  and  indeed  he  drowned  the  greater  part  of 
them.  The  deluge,  the  memory  of  which  has  been 
proved  a  last  deception  for  the  unhappy  Demiurge 
preserved  by  the  Jews,  the  Greeks,  and  the  Chinese, 
who,  soon  recognising  the  uselessness  and  ridicu- 
lousness of  such  violence,  fell  into  discouragement 


102  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

and  apathy,  which  has  not  ceased  since  the  day  of 
Noah  but  has  progressed  to  the  extreme  degree 
of  the  present  day.  But  I  see  I  look  too  far  ahead. 
It  is  the  drawback  of  these  vast  subjects  that  one 
cannot  confine  oneself  to  them.  Our  mind  aban- 
doning itself  in  them  acts  like  the  children  of  the 
stars  who  pass  at  one  bound  from  universe  to  uni- 
verse. 

"Let  us  return  to  the  earthly  paradise  where  the 
Demiurge  had  placed  the  two  vessels  shaped  by  his 
hand:  Adam  and  Eve.  They  did  not  live  alone 
there  among  the  animals  and  plants.  Spirits  of  air 
created  by  the  Demiurges  of  the  fire  floated  above 
them,  and  looked  on  them  with  curiosity  mingled 
with  sympathy  and  pity.  It  was  just  what  Jehovah 
had  foreseen.  To  his  praise  let  it  be  said  he  had 
reckoned  on  the  Genii  of  the  fire,  to  whom  we  can 
henceforth  give  real  names  of  Elves  and  Salaman- 
ders, to  improve  and  complete  his  little  figures  of 
clay.  He  had  said  to  himself  in  his  prudence,  'My 
Adam  and  Eve,  opaque,  and  sealed  in  clay,  lack  air 
and  light.  I  did  not  know  how  to  give  them  wings. 
But  by  uniting  themselves  with  Elves  and  Salaman- 
ders created  by  a  Demiurge  more  powerful  and 
subtle  than  I,  they  will  give  birth  to  children  who 
will  derive  from  the  people  of  light,  as  well  as 
from  the  race  of  clay,  and  will  bear  in  their  turn 
children  more  luminous  than  themselves,  until  at 
last  their  posterity  shall  nearly  equal  in  beauty  the 
sons  and  the  daughters  of  air  and  fire.' 

"Truly  he  had  neglected  nothing  to  draw  the 
attention  of  the  Sylphs  and  Salamanders  to  his 
Adam  and  Eve.  He  had  modelled  the  woman  to 
the  shape  of  an  amphora  with  a  harmony  of  curved 
lines  which  sufficed  to  show  him  a  prince  of  Geom- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  103 

eters,  and  he  succeeded  in  redeeming  the  coarse- 
ness of  the  material  by  the  magnificence  of  the 
form.  Adam  he  had  moulded  with  a  hand  less 
light  but  firmer,  shaping  his  body  with  such  just- 
ness and  according  to  such  perfect  proportions  that, 
applied  later  by  the  Greeks  to  architecture,  these 
lines  and  measurements  made  all  the  beauty  of  their 
temples. 

"So  you  see,  my  son,  Jehovah  tried  according  to 
his  powers  to  render  his  creatures  worthy  of  the 
ethereal  embrace  he  hoped  for  them.  I  lay  no 
stress  on  the  pains  he  took  to  make  these  unions 
fruitful.  The  economy  of  the  sexes  bears  sufficient 
witness  to  his  wisdom  in  this  respect.  And  at  first 
he  could  congratulate  himself  on  his  cunning  and 
address.  I  have  said  that  the  Sylphs  and  Salaman- 
ders looked  on  Adam  and  Eve  with  that  curiosity, 
that  sympathy,  and  that  tenderness  which  are  the 
first  ingredients  of  love.  They  drew  near,  and  were 
taken  in  the  cunning  snares  which  Jehovah  had  set, 
and  spread  for  them  in  and  on  the  bellying  bodies 
of  the  amphorae.  The  first  man  and  the  first  woman 
enjoyed  during  centuries  the  delectable  embraces 
of  the  Genii  of  the  air,  which  preserved  them  in 
eternal  youth. 

"Such  was  their  lot,  such  should  be  ours.  Why 
did  the  parents  of  the  human  race,  tired  of  these 
sublime  delights,  seek  illicit  pleasure  the  one  with 
the  other?  But  what  would  you  have,  my  son? 
Moulded  in  clay,  they  loved  the  mud  whence  they 
came.  Alas !  they  knew  one  another,  even  as  they 
had  known  the  Genii. 

"This  is  what  the  Demiurge  had  expressly  for- 
bidden them.  Dreading,  and  with  reason,  that 
they  would  produce  children  heavy,  dull,  and  earth- 


io4  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

bound,  as  themselves,  he  had  forbidden  them,  under 
strictest  penalty,  to  approach  one  another.  It  is 
the  meaning  of  those  words  of  Eve's:  'But  of  the 
fruit  of  the  tree  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  garden 
God  hath  said  Ye  shall  not  eat  of  it,  neither  shall 
ye  touch  it,  lest  ye  die.'  For  you  can  well  under- 
stand, my  son,  the  apple  which  tempted  the  luckless 
Eve  was  not  the  fruit  of  the  apple-tree,  and  therein 
lies  an  allegory  whose  meaning  I  have  explained  to 
you.  Although  imperfect,  and  sometimes  violent 
and  capricious  Jehovah  was  a  Demiurge,  and  too 
intelligent  to  vex  himself  about  an  apple  or  a  pome- 
granate. To  uphold  such  extravagant  imaginings 
one  must  be  a  bishop  or  a  capuchin.  And  the 
proof  that  the  apple  was  what  I  have  said  it  was  is 
that  Eve  was  visited  with  the  punishment  suited 
to  her  fault. 

"It  was  not  said  to  her,  'In  sorrow  shalt  thou 
eat  of  it,'  but:  'In  sorrow  thou  shalt  bring  forth.' 
Now  what  connection,  I  ask  you,  can  there  be  be- 
tween an  apple  and  the  pains  of  child-birth?  On 
the  contrary,  the  punishment  is  exactly  fitted  if  the 
fault  were  such  as  I  have  explained  it. 

"There,  my  son,  is  the  true  explanation  of  orig- 
inal sin.  It  teaches  you  your  duty,  which  is  to 
keep  away  from  women.  The  fondness  which 
draws  you  to  them  is  fatal.  All  children  born  in 
this  fashion  are  foolish  and  wretched." 

"But,  Monsieur,"  I  cried,  stupefied,  "is  another 
way  then  possible?" 

"Happily,"  said  he,  "a  great  many  are  born  from 
the  union  of  men  with  the  Spirits  of  air.  And 
such  are  clever  and  beautiful.  Thus  were  born  the 
giants  spoken  of  by  Hesiod  and  Moses.  Thus  was 
born  Pythagoras,  whom  the  Salamander,  his 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  105 

mother,  endowed  with  a  golden  thigh.  Thus  was 
born  Alexander  the  Great,  said  to  be  the  son  of 
Olympias  and  a  serpent.  Scipio-Africanus,  Aris- 
tomenes  of  Messenia,*  Julius  Caesar,  Porphyry,!  the 
emperor  Julian  who  re-established  the  worship  of 
fire,  abolished  by  Constantine  the  Apostate;  Merlin 
the  Wizard,  born  of  a  Sylph  and  a  nun,  daughter 
of  Charlemagne;  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Paracelsus, 
and  more  recently  Monsieur  Van  Helmont."  J 

I  promised  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  as  this  was  the 
case,  to  lend  myself  to  the  advances  of  a  Salaman- 
der, could  one  be  found  so  obliging  as  to  wish  for 
me.  He  assured  me  I  should  not  only  find  one, 
but  twenty  or  thirty,  among  whom  I  should  have 
but  the  difficulty  of  choosing.  And  less  by  desire 
to  put  it  to  the  test  than  to  please  him,  I  asked  the 
philosopher  how  it  were  possible  to  put  oneself  in 
communication  with  these  aerial  beings. 

"Nothing  is  easier,"  he  replied.  "It  needs  but 
a  crystal  ball,  whose  use  I  will  explain  to  you.  I 
keep  by  me  a  fairly  large  number  of  these  balls, 
and  I  will  give  you  all  the  necessary  directions  be- 
fore long  in  my  study.  But  that  is  enough  for  to- 
day." 

He  rose  and  moved  to  the  boat,  where  the  ferry- 
man waited  us,  stretched  on  his  back  and  snoring  to 
the  moon.  Once  we  had  touched  the  bank  he  was 
soon  at  a  distance,  and  was  quickly  lost  to  sight  in 
the  darkness. 

*  Aristomenes  of  Messenia.     General,  7th  century  B.C. 

t  Porphyrius.     Platonic  philosopher,  234-304. 

\Van  Helmont,  J.  B.     Flemish  physician,  b.  Brussels,  1577-1644. 


XIII 

HIS  long  interview  left  me  the  con- 
fused feeling  of  a  dream;  I  was 
more  alive  to  the  thought  of  Cather- 
ine. In  spite  of  the  sublimities  that 
I  had  been  hearing  I  longed  to  see 
her,  and  that  although  I  had  not 
supped.  I  was  not  so  penetrated 
by  the  philosopher's  notions  that  I  was  in  any  way 
out  of  taste  with  this  pretty  girl.  I  was  resolved 
to  push  my  good  fortune  to  a  finish  before  falling 
to  the  possession  of  one  of  those  handsome  furies 
of  the  air,  who  allowed  no  earthly  rivals.  My 
dread  was  lest,  at  so  late  an  hour  of  the  night, 
Catherine  should  be  tired  of  waiting  for  me. 
Making  my  way  along  the  river  and  crossing  the 
Pont  Royal  at  full  speed,  I  rushed  down  the  Rue 
du  Bac.  A  minute  later  I  reached  the  Rue  de 
Crenelle,  where  I  heard  cries  mingled  with  the  clash 
of  swords.  The  noise  came  from  the  house  Cath- 
erine had  described  to  me.  There,  on  the  pave- 
ment, shadows  and  lanterns  were  flickering  and 
voices  arose : 

"Help!  Jesus!  They  murder  me!  Have  at 
the  monk.  .  .  .  Forrard  on !  To  him  .  .  .  Jesus 
and  Mary  help!  Look  at  the  precious  rascal! 
Have  at  him!  To  him,  boys,  to  him!  Let  him 
have  it!" 

Windows  opened  in  the  surrounding  houses  and 
showed  heads  bonnetted  with  night-caps. 

All  this  tumult  and  rout  passed  suddenly  across 
106 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  107 

me  like  a  forest  chase  and  I  recognised  brother 
Ange  who  was  making  off  with  such  speed  that  he 
kicked  himself  with  his  sandalled  feet  as  he  ran, 
while  three  great  strapping  lackeys  armed  like  the 
Swiss  guard,  pressing  him  close  pricked  his  hide 
with  the  points  of  their  halberts.  Their  master,  a 
young  gentleman,  thick-set  and  red  of  face,  ceased 
not  to  encourage  them  with  voice  and  gesture  as 
one  sets  on  the  hounds. 

"To  him!  ...  to  him!  .  .  .  Strike  home!  .  .  . 
He's  a  tough  brute!" 

When  he  was  near  me: 

"Ah  Monsieur,"  I  said,  "you  have  no  pity!" 

"Monsieur,"  he  replied,  "obviously  it  is  not  your 
mistress  this  capuchin  has  caressed,  and  it  was  not 
you  who  surprised  Madame  here  in  the  arms  of 
this  malodorous  beast.  Her  financier  is  all  very 
well — there  are  things  that  are  understood.  But 
a  monk  is  not  to  be  endured.  Look  at  the  bold 
impudent  hussy." 

And  he  showed  me  Catherine  in  her  night-dress 
in  the  doorway,  her  eyes  glittering  with  tears,  dis- 
hevelled, wringing  her  hands,  more  beautiful  than 
I  had  ever  seen  her,  and  murmuring  in  a  languish- 
ing voice  which  cut  me  to  the  heart: 

"Do  not  kill  him!  It  is  brother  Ange,  it  is  the 
little  brother." 

The  ruffianly  lackeys  came  back  announcing  they 
had  given  up  the  chase  on  seeing  the  watch,  but  not 
without  having  first  felt  their  pikes  half  a  finger 
deep  in  the  back  of  the  holy  man.  The  night-caps 
disappeared  from  the  windows,  which  shut  again, 
and  while  the  young  lord  talked  with  his  men  I 
approached  Catherine  whose  tears  were  drying  on 
her  cheeks  in  the  pretty  creases  of  her  smile. 


108  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"The  poor  brother  has  escaped,"  she  said.  "But 
I  trembled  for  him.  Men  are  terrible.  When 
they  love  you  they  will  listen  to  nothing." 

"Catherine,"  I  replied  rather  piqued,  "did  you 
ask  me  to  come  here  merely  to  assist  at  your 
friends'  quarrels?  Alas!  I  have  no  right  to  take 
part  in  them." 

"You  would  have,  Monsieur  Jacques,  you  would 
have,  if  you  wished." 

"But,"  said  I  again,  "you  are  the  most  sought- 
after  person  in  all  Paris.  You  have  never  spoken 
to  me  of  this  young  gentleman." 

"Neither  did  I  think  of  him.  He  came  by  sur- 
prise." 

"And  he  surprised  you  with  brother  Ange." 

"He  thought  he  saw  what  did  not  exist.  He  is 
so  hot-headed  and  will  not  listen  to  reason." 

Her  night-dress,  half  open,  showed  amid  its  lace 
a  bosom  full  as  a  ripe  fruit  and  flowering  to  a  rose- 
bud. I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  covered  her  breast 
with  kisses. 

"Heavens!"  she  cried,  "and  in  the  street  too,  be- 
fore Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  who  is  looking  at  us!" 

"Who  is  he?  Monsieur  d'Anquetil?" 

"The  murderer  of  brother  Ange,  pardi !  Who 
else  do  you  suppose?" 

"Truly,  Catherine,  others  are  not  needful;  your 
friends  are  gathered  round  you  in  sufficient  force." 

"Monsieur  Jacques,  I  pray  you  do  not  insult 
me!" 

"I  am  not  insulting  you,  Catherine,  I  acknowl- 
edge your  attractions,  to  which  I  do  but  wish  to 
pay  the  same  homage  as  do  so  many  others." 

"Monsieur  Jacques,  what  you  say  smells  odiously 
of  your  good  father's  cook-shop." 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  109 

"You  were  formerly  well  content  Mam'selle 
Catherine,  to  smell  that  smoke." 

"Fie,  you  villain!  You  mean  wretch!  To  in- 
sult a  woman!" 

As  she  began  to  screech  and  to  get  excited,  Mon- 
sieur d'Anquetil  left  his  men  and  came  to  us, 
pushed  her  into  the  house  calling  her  a  shameless 
hussy  and  a  good-for-nothing,  followed  her  into  the 
passage  and  shut  the  door  in  my  face. 


XIV 

HE  thought  of  Catherine  filled  my 
mind  during  the  whole  week  follow- 
ing this  unlucky  adventure.  Her 
likeness  shone  on  the  leaves  of  the 
folios  over  which  I  bent  in  the  li- 
brary beside  my  good  master;  so 
much  so  that  Photius,  Olympi- 
odorus,  Fabricius  and  Vossius,  spoke  to  me  but  of 
a  little  lady  in  a  lace  night-gown.  These  visions 
inclined  me  to  idleness.  But  indulgent  to  others  as 
to  himself  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  smiled  be- 
nevolently on  my  trouble  and  distraction. 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,"  the  good  man  said  to 
me  one  day,  "are  you  not  struck  by  the  variations 
of  the  moral  law  throughout  the  ages?  The  books 
gathered  together  in  this  admirable  Astaracian  li- 
brary bear  witness  to  man's  uncertainty  on  this  sub- 
ject. If  I  offer  some  reflections  thereon,  my  son,  it 
is  to  fix  in  your  mind  this  sound  and  salutary 
thought,  that  there  is  no  good  conduct  outside  re- 
ligion, and  that  the  maxims  of  the  philosophers 
who  pretend  to  set  up  a  code  of  natural  morals  are 
but  whim-whams  and  crotchets.  The  wherefore 
for  right  conduct  is  not  to  be  found  in  nature,  who, 
of  herself,  is  indifferent,  ignoring  evil  as  well  as 
good.  It  is  written  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  that  one 
must  not  transgress,  at  least  not  without  suitably 
repenting  afterwards.  Human  laws  are  founded 
on  utility,  and  that  can  be  but  apparent  and  illusive 
utility,  for  one  does  not  know  instinctively  what  is 
of  use  to  man  or  what  really  befits  him.  And 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  in 

again,  in  our  Code  of  Usage  a  good  part  of  the 
articles  are  born  of  prejudice  alone.  Upheld  by 
the  threat  of  punishment  human  laws  may  be  eluded 
by  ruse  and  dissimulation.  Every  man  capable  of 
thought  is  above  them.  They  are  in  fact  but  snares 
for  the  foolish. 

"Such  is  not  the  case  my  son,  with  divine  laws. 
These  latter  are  imprescriptible,  ineluctable,  and 
stable.  Their  absurdity  is  but  apparent,  and  hides 
a  wisdom  we  cannot  grasp.  If  they  offend  our 
reason  it  is  because  they  are  superior  to  it  and  be- 
cause they  accord  with  the  true  ends  of  man  and  not 
with  the  ends  which  are  apparent  to  him.  It  is 
well  to  observe  them  when  one  is  fortunate  enough 
to  recognise  them.  At  the  same  time  I  make  no 
difficulty  about  confessing  that  the  observation  of 
these  laws  contained  in  the  Decalogue  and  in  the 
commandments  of  the  church,  is  difficult  at  most 
times,  and  even  impossible  without  grace,  which  is 
often  delayed,  since  it  is  our  duty  to  long  for  it. 
Hence  we  are  all  miserable  sinners. 

"And  here  it  is  indeed  that  we  should  admire  the 
system  of  the  Christian  faith,  which  bases  salva- 
tion principally  upon  repentance.  It  is  to  be  ob- 
served, my  son,  that  the  greatest  saints  were  the 
penitents,  and  as  repentance  is  in  proportion  to  the 
fault,  in  the  greatest  sinners  is  found  the  stuff  of  the 
greatest  saints.  I  could  illustrate  this  doctrine  with 
a  great  number  of  admirable  examples,  but  I  have 
said  enough  to  make  you  understand  that  the  pri- 
mary substance  of  saintliness  is  concupiscence,  in- 
continence, every  impurity  of  the  flesh  and  spirit. 
It  needs  but,  having  collected  your  material  to- 
gether, to  work  it  up  according  to  the  theological 
art,  to  shape  it,  so  to  speak,  into  the  form  of  re- 


ii2  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

pentance,  which  is  the  affair  of  years,  of  days,  and 
sometimes  even  of  a  single  moment,  as  may  be  seen 
in  the  case  of  perfect  contrition.  Jacques  Tourne- 
broche,  if  you  have  well  understood  me,  you  will 
not  wear  yourself  out  in  wretched  efforts  to  become 
an  honest  man  according  to  the  way  of  the  world, 
but  you  will  apply  yourself  solely  to  the  satisfying 
of  divine  justice." 

I  did  not  fail  to  recognise  the  great  wisdom  en- 
shrined in  the  maxims  of  my  good  master.  I  only 
feared  that  this  morality,  were  it  followed  without 
discrimination  would  bring  upon  men  the  worst  dis- 
orders. I  shared  my  doubts  with  Monsieur  Je- 
rome Coignard  who  reassured  me  as  follows: 

"Jacobus  Tournebroche,  you  take  no  notice  of 
what  I  have  just  particularly  told  you,  to  wit,  that 
what  you  call  disorders  are  such  in  fact  only  in  the 
opinion  of  lawyers  and  judges  whether  civil  or  eccle- 
siastical, and  in  reference  to  human  laws  which  are 
arbitrary  and  transitory,  and,  in  a  word,  that  to  live 
according  to  these  laws  is  the  mark  of  a  sheepish  in- 
telligence. A  man  of  parts  does  not  pride  himself 
on  acting  according  to  the  laws  in  force  at  the 
Chatelet  and  under  the  eye  of  the  judge.  He  only 
concerns  himself  with  the  salvation  of  his  soul,  and 
he  does  not  think  himself  dishonoured  if  he  gets  to 
heaven  by  some  one  of  the  crooked  paths  followed 
by  the  greatest  saints.  If  the  blessed  Pelagia  had 
not  practiced  the  profession  by  which  you  know 
Jeannette  the  viol-player  gains  her  livelihood  under 
the  porch  of  St.  Benoit-le-Betourne,  that  saint 
would  not  have  had  occasion  for  her  full  and  ample 
repentance,  and  it  is  extremely  probable  that,  after 
having  lived  as  a  matron  in  average  and  common- 
place goodness,  she  would  not  at  this  moment  be 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  113 

playing  the  psaltery  before  the  tabernacle  where 
the  Holy  of  Holies  rests  in  glory.  Do  you  call  so 
beautiful  a  dispensation  of  a  predestinated  life,  dis- 
order? Not  so.  Let  us  leave  such  base  figures  of 
speech  to  Monsieur  the  lieutenant  of  police,  who 
after  death  will  not  perhaps  find  the  meanest  place 
behind  the  wretched  women  he  drags  ignominiously 
to-day  to  the  reformatory.  Save  the  loss  of  one's 
soul  and  eternal  damnation,  there  should  be  no  dis- 
order nor  crime  nor  any  evil  in  this  perishable 
world,  where  everything  should  be  adjusted  and 
governed  with  an  eye  to  the  world  to  come.  Ad- 
mit, then,  Tournebroche  my  son,  that  acts  the  most 
reprehensible  in  man's  opinion  may  lead  to  a  good 
end,  and  do  not  try  to  reconcile  the  justice  of  men 
with  that  of  God,  which  alone  is  just,  not  indeed  to 
our  perceptions  but  in  very  surety.  For  the  mo- 
ment you  will  oblige  me,  my  son,  by  looking  up  in 
Vossius  the  meaning  of  five  or  six  obscure  terms 
employed  by  the  Panopolitan  with  whom  one  must 
wrestle  in  the  darkness,  in  the  insidious  manner 
which  dismayed  even  the  great  heart  of  Ajax,  ac- 
cording to  Homer,  prince  of  poets  and  historians. 
These  old  alchemists  had  a  rough-hewn  style; 
Manilius,  if  Monsieur  d'Astarac  does  not  mind  my 
saying  so,  wrote  on  these  same  subjects  with  more 
elegance." 

My  good  master  had  scarcely  uttered  these  last 
words  when  a  shadow  rose  between  us.  It  was 
that  of  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  or  rather  it  was  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  himself,  thin  and  black  as  a 
shadow. 

Whether  he  had  not  overheard  the  conversa- 
tion, or  whether  he  disdained  to  notice  it,  he 
showed  no  resentment;  on  the  contrary,  he  congrat- 


ii4  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

ulated  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  on  his  zeal  and 
knowledge,  and  he  added  that  he  counted  on  his 
insight  for  the  completion  of  the  greatest  work 
ever  undertaken  by  man.  Then  turning  to  me,  he 
said: 

"My  son,  I  beg  you  to  come  down  to  my  study 
for  a  moment,  where  I  wish  to  communicate  to  you 
a  secret  of  some  importance." 

I  followed  him  into  the  room  where  he  had  first 
received  us,  my  good  master  and  me,  the  day  he 
took  us  into  his  service.  I  found  once  again  the 
old  Egyptians  with  their  gilded  faces  standing 
against  the  walls.  A  glass  globe  the  size  of  a 
pumpkin  stood  on  the  table.  Monsieur  d'Astarac 
let  himself  drop  on  to  a  sofa  and  signed  to  me  to 
sit  down  in  /front  of  him,  and  having  passed  his 
hand,  laden  with  precious  stones  and  amulets, 
across  his  brow,  said: 

"My  son,  I  do  not  do  you  the  injustice  of  think- 
ing that  after  our  interview  on  the  Isle  of  Swans 
any  doubt  can  remain  to  you  as  to  the  existence  of 
Sylphs  and  Salamanders,  which  is  just  as  real  as 
that  of  men,  and  even  much  more  so  if  one  counts 
its  reality  by  the  duration  of  the  apparitions 
through  which  it  shows  itself,  for  their  life  is  far 
longer  than  ours.  Salamanders  carry  their  un- 
changeable youth  from  century  to  century;  some  of 
them  have  seen  Noah,  Menes  *  and  Pythagoras. 
The  plenitude  of  their  remembrances  and  the 
freshness  of  their  memory  make  their  conversation 
extremely  attractive.  It  has  been  imagined  that 
they  acquired  their  immortality  in  the  arms  of  mor- 
tals, and  that  the  hope  of  avoiding  death  drew 
them  to  the  couch  of  philosophers.  But  these  are 

*  Menes.    Legendary  first  king  of  Egypt. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  115 

falsehoods  which  cannot  deceive  a  reflective  mind. 
Every  union  of  the  sexes,  far  from  assuring  immor- 
tality to  lovers,  is  an  evidence  of  death,  and  we 
should  never  know  love  were  we  destined  to  live 
for  ever.  It  cannot  be  otherwise  for  the  Salaman- 
ders, who  seek  in  the  arms  of  the  sages  but  one 
kind  of  immortality — that  of  the  race.  It  is  also 
the  only  one  that  it  is  reasonable  to  hope  for. 
And  although  I  have  promised  myself,  with  the 
help  of  science,  notably  to  prolong  human  life,  and 
to  spread  it  over  five  or  six  centuries  at  least,  I 
have  never  flattered  myself  that  I  could  ensure  its 
duration  indefinitely.  It  would  be  insensate  to 
combat  the  natural  law.  Reject,  my  son,  as  vain 
tales,  the  idea  of  immortality  drawn  from  a  kiss. 
It  is  the  shame  of  various  cabalists  ever  to  have 
thought  such  a  thing.  It  is  none  the  less  true  that 
Salamanders  are  inclined  to  the  love  of  man.  You 
will  have  experience  of  it  without  delay.  I  have 
sufficiently  prepared  you  for  their  visit  and  since 
you  have  had,  from  the  night  of  your  initiation,  no 
impure  dealings  with  women,  you  shall  now  receive 
the  reward  of  your  continence." 

My  candid  nature  suffered  uneasily  a  praise  I 
merited  only  in  spite  of  myself,  and  I  thought  of 
owning  my  culpable  desires  to  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 
But  he  left  me  not  time  to  confess,  and  continued 
with  vivacity: 

"There  only  remains  to  give  you  the  key,  my  son, 
which  will  open  to  you  the  kingdom  of  the  Genii. 
And  I  will  do  it  straight  away." 

And  getting  up  he  put  his  hand  on  the  globe 
which  occupied  half  the  table. 

"This  ball,"  he  said,  "is  full  of  star  dust  which 
escapes  your  sight  by  its  very  purity.  For  it  is  far 


n6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

too  rare  to  be  palpable  to  the  gross  sense  of  man. 
So  it  is,  my  son,  that  the  more  beautiful  side  of  the 
universe  hides  itself  from  our  vision,  and  only  re- 
veals itself  to  the  savant  who  is  furnished  with  the 
apparatus  proper  to  discover  it.  The  rivers  and 
the  plains  of  the  air,  for  instance,  remain  invisible 
to  you,  though  in  reality  they  are  a  thousand  times 
more  rich  and  varied  in  aspect  than  those  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  earthly  landscapes. 

"Know  then  that  in  this  globe  there  is  a  star  dust 
of  sovereign  property  to  exalt  the  fire  that  is  within 
us.  And  the  effect  of  the  exaltation  makes  itself 
felt  at  once.  It  consists  in  a  sublety  of  the  senses 
which  allows  us  to  see  and  to  touch  the  aerial 
shapes  floating  round  about  us.  As  soon  as  you 
have  broken  the  seal  which  closes  the  opening  of  this 
globe,  and  inhaled  the  star  dust  which  will  escape 
therefrom,  you  will  find  in  this  room  one  or  more 
creatures  like  to  women  in  the  system  of  curved 
lines  which  form  their  bodies,  but  far  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever  woman  was,  and  who  are,  in  truth, 
Salamanders.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  one 
which  I  saw  last  year  in  your  father's  cook-shop 
will  appear  to  you  first,  for  she  has  a  liking  for  you, 
and  I  would  advise  you  to  satisfy  her  desires  as 
soon  as  possible.  So  sit  down  comfortably  in  this 
armchair  before  the  table,  unseal  the  globe,  and  in- 
hale its  contents  gently.  You  will  soon  see  all  that 
I  have  described  to  you  take  shape  by  degrees.  I 
will  now  leave  you.  Farewell." 

And  he  disappeared  after  his  fashion,  which  was 
strangely  sudden.  I  remained  alone,  before  this 
globe  of  glass,  hesitating  to  uncork  it  for  fear 
that  some  stupefying  exhalation  should  escape.  I 
thought  that  perhaps  Monsieur  d'Astarac  might 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  117 

have  introduced  therein,  according  to  his  art,  some 
vapour  which  should  send  to  sleep  those  who 
breathed  it  and  set  them  dreaming  of  Salamanders. 
I  was  not  yet  philosopher  enough  to  care  to  be 
happy  in  such  fashion.  Perhaps,  I  said  to  myself, 
these  fumes  induce  madness.  In  fact  I  was  dis- 
trustful enough  to  think  for  a  moment  of  going  to 
the  library  to  ask  advice  of  my  good  master,  Mon- 
sieur 1'Abbe  Coignard.  But  I  recognised  immedi- 
ately that  it  would  be  taking  useless  trouble.  As 
soon  as  he  heard  me  speak,  I  told  myself,  of  star 
dust  and  Genii  of  the  air,  he  would  reply,  "Jacques 
Tournebroche,  my  son,  be  mindful  never  to  put 
faith  in  absurdities,  but  to  bring  everything  to  the 
test  of  your  reason  save  in  the  matter  of  our  holy 
religion.  Let  be  these  globes  and  powders  along 
with  all  the  other  follies  of  the  cabala  and  the 
spagyric  art." 

I  thought  I  could  hear  him  making  this  little 
speech  between  two  pinches  of  snuff,  and  I  knew 
not  what  to  reply  to  such  Christian  language.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  foresaw  and  considered  in  what 
embarrassment  I  should  find  myself  before  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  when  he  should  ask  me  what  news 
of  the  Salamander?  What  should  I  reply  to  him? 
How  could  I  confess  my  reserve  and  my  abstention, 
without  at  the  same  time  betraying  my  suspicion 
and  my  fear?  And  then  again,  in  spite  of  myself, 
I  was  curious  to  try  such  an  adventure.  I  am  not 
credulous.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  a  prodigious 
leaning  to  doubt,  and  this  propensity  induces  me  to 
defy  common  sense  and  even  evidence  along  with 
it.  To  everything  that  is  told  me  I  say  to  myself 
why  not?  Before  the  crystal  globe  this  "why 
not?"  did  insult  to  my  natural  intelligence.  This 


n8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"why  not"  inclines  me  to  credulity  and,  it  is  worthy 
of  note  here,  that  to  believe  nothing  is  to  believe 
everything,  and  one  must  not  keep  too  open  and 
free  a  mind  lest  perchance  it  should  become  a  store- 
house for  adventure,  and  stuff  should  lodge  there 
of  extravagant  form  and  weight  which  could  find 
no  place  in  minds  sensibly  and  commonplacedly  fur- 
nished with  beliefs.  While  with  my  hand  on  the 
waxen  seal  I  remembered  what  my  mother  had  told 
me  of  .magic  bottles  my  "why  not?"  whispered  to 
me  that  perchance  after  all  one  might  see  in  this  as- 
tral dust  aerial  sprites.  But  as  soon  as  this  notion, 
having  set  foot  in  my  mind,  inclined  to  lodge  there 
and  recline  upon  itself,  I  found  it  odd,  absurd  and 
grotesque.  Ideas,  when  they  lay  hold  of  one  soon 
become  impertinent.  Few  of  them  are  capable  of 
being  anything  but  passing  fancies,  and  certainly 
this  one  had  an  air  of  folly.  While  I  still  asked 
myself,  Shall  I  open  it?  Shall  I  not  open  it?  the 
seal,  which  I  had  not  ceased  to  press  between  my 
fingers,  broke  suddenly  in  my  hand,  and  behold  the 
bottle  was  uncorked! 

I  waited  and  I  watched.  I  saw  nothing  and  I 
felt  nothing.  I  felt  cheated,  so  facile  and  prompt 
to  slip  into  our  minds  is  the  hope  of  over-reaching 
nature !  Nothing !  Not  even  a  vague  or  confused 
illusion,  or  uncertain  image.  What  I  had  foreseen 
had  happened.  What  a  deception!  I  felt  a  kind 
of  chagrin.  Lying  back  in  my  arm-chair  I  swore 
to  myself  before  the  surrounding  Egyptians  with 
their  long  black  eyes  to  shut  my  mind  closer  in  fu- 
ture against  the  lies  of  cabalists.  Once  again  I 
acknowledged  the  wisdom  of  my  good  master  and 
I  resolved  on  his  example  to  guide  myself  by  reason 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  119 

in  all  matters  not  relating  to  the  Christian  and 
Catholic  faith.  To  have  expected  the  visit  of  a 
Salamander-lady,  what  a  simpleton!  Could  there 
possibly  be  Salamanders?  But  what  does  one 
know  of  such  things?  and  "why  not?" 

The  atmosphere,  heavy  since  mid-day,  was  be- 
come overpowering.  Torpid  from  long,  peaceful, 
and  secluded  days  I  felt  a  weight  on  my  brow  and 
on  my  eyelids.  The  coming  storm  quite  bore  me 
down.  I  let  my  arms  fall,  and  with  head  thrown 
back  and  closed  eyes  I  slid  into  a  half-slumber  full 
of  gilded  Egyptians  and  lascivious  shades.  This 
uncertain  condition,  during  which  the  feeling  of 
love  burnt  in  me  as  a  fire  in  the  night,  lasted  for  I 
know  not  how  long,  when  I  was  awakened  by  a 
light  sound  of  steps  and  of  rustling  material.  I 
opened  my  eyes  and  gave  a  loud  cry. 

A  marvellous  creature  stood  before  me,  robed  in 
black  satin,  her  hair  decked  with  lace,  dark,  with 
blue  eyes,  well-marked  features,  a  young  pure  skin, 
rounded  cheeks  and  a  mouth  breathing  an  invisible 
kiss.  Her  short  dress  showed  little  feet,  light  and 
instinct  with  gaiety  and  movement.  She  held  her- 
self erect,  rounded,  and  a  trifle  thickset  in  her  vo- 
luptuous perfection.  One  could  see  a  small  square 
of  her  neck  under  the  velvet  band  tied  round  her 
throat,  and  it  was  dark  but  dazzling.  She  looked 
at  me  with  an  air  of  curiosity. 

I  have  said  that  my  sleep  had  given  me  thoughts 
of  love.  I  rose  up.  I  sprang  towards  her. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said,  "I  was  looking  for  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac." 

I  replied:  "Madame,  there  is  no  question  of 
Monsieur  d'Astarac.  There  is  but  you  and  I.  I 


120  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

was  waiting  for  you.  You  are  my  Salamander.  I 
have  opened  the  crystal  bottle.  You  have  come. 
You  are  mine." 

I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  covered  with  kisses  all 
of  her  that  my  lips  could  meet  above  the  opening 
of  her  bodice. 

She  disengaged  herself  and  said. 

"You  are  mad." 

"It  is  very  natural,"  said  I,  "who  would  not  be, 
in  my  place  ?" 

She  looked  down,  blushed  and  smiled.  I  threw 
myself  at  her  feet. 

"Since  Monsieur  d'Astarac  is  not  here,"  she  said, 
"I  must  withdraw." 

"Stay,"  I  cried,  and  bolted  the  door. 

She  asked  me,  "Do  you  know  if  he  will  return 
shortly?" 

"No,  Madame,  he  will  not  come  back  for  long 
enough.  He  has  left  me  alone  with  the  Salaman- 
ders. I  desire  but  one.  It  is  you." 

I  took  her  in  my  arms,  I  bore  her  to  the  sofa,  I 
dropped  down  with  her,  I  covered  her  with  kisses, 
I  was  no  longer  conscious  of  myself.  She  cried  out, 
I  did  not  listen  to  her.  Her  open  palms  repulsed 
me,  her  nails  scratched  me,  and  her  vain  defence 
but  sharpened  my  desires.  I  clasped  her,  I  en- 
folded her,  over-borne,  and  undone.  Her  yielding 
body  ceded  to  me;  she  closed  her  eyes.  I  soon  felt 
in  my  triumph  her  beautiful  arms  forgivingly  en- 
fold me. 

Then,  unlocked  alas !  from  this  delicious  embrace, 
we  looked  on  one  another  with  surprise.  Anxious 
to  recover  her  propriety  she  smoothed  her  skirts 
and  was  silent. 

"I  love  you,"  said  I.     "What  is  your  name?" 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  121 

I  did  not  think  she  was  a  Salamander,  and  truth 
to  tell  I  had  never  really  thought  so. 

"I  am  called  Jael,"  she  said.. 

"What!  you  are  Mosaide's  niece?" 

"Yes,  but  say  nothing.     If  he  knew  .  .  ." 

"What  would  he  do?" 

"Oh!  nothing  to  me.  But  much  harm  to  you. 
He  does  not  love  Christians." 

"And  you!" 

"Oh!     I— I  do  not  love  Jews." 

"Jael,  do  you  love  me  a  little?" 

"It  seems  to  me,  Monsieur,  after  what  we  have 
expressed  to  one  another,  that  your  question  is  an 
insult." 

"It  is  true,  Mademoiselle,  but  I  hope  that  you 
will  pardon  a  haste  and  an  ardour  which  was  not 
careful  to  consult  your  feelings." 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  do  not  make  yourself  out  more 
guilty  than  you  are.  All  your  violence  and  all  your 
ardour  would  not  have  served  you  had  you  not 
pleased  me.  A  moment  ago,  seeing  you  asleep  in 
that  arm-chair,  I  thought  you  deserving.  I  waited 
your  awakening,  and  you  know  the  rest." 

I  answered  her  with  a  kiss.  She  returned  it. 
What  a  kiss !  I  thought  the  wild  wood-strawberry 
melted  in  my  mouth !  My  desires  re-awoke,  and  I 
pressed  her  ardently  against  my  heart. 

"This  time,"  said  she,  "do  not  let  yourself  be  so 
carried  away,  and  do  not  think  only  of  yourself. 
One  must  not  be  an  egoist  in  love.  That  is  what 
young  men  do  not  well  understand.  But  one 
teaches  them." 

We  dived  again  into  the  depths  of  delight. 
Afterwards  the  adorable  Jael  said  to  me: 

"Have  you  a  comb?     I  look  like  a  witch." 


122  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"Jael,"  said  I,  "I  have  no  comb;  I  was  expecting 
a  Salamander.  I  adore  you." 

"Adore  me,  my  friend,  but  with  discretion.  You 
do  not  know  Mosai'de." 

"Why,  Jael,  is  he  so  terrifying,  at  a  hundred  and 
thirty  years  of  age,  and  seventy-five  of  them  passed 
in  a  pyramid?" 

"I  see,  my  friend,  that  you  have  heard  tales 
about  my  uncle,  and  that  you  have  been  simple 
enough  to  believe  them.  Nobody  knows  his  age; 
I  am  ignorant  of  it  myself.  He  has  been  old  as 
long  as  I  have  known  him.  I  only  know  that  he 
is  robust  and  of  no  common  strength.  He  was  a 
banker  at  Lisbon,  where  he  happened  to  kill  a 
Christian  whom  he  had  surprised  with  my  aunt 
Myriam.  He  fled  and  took  me  with  him.  Since 
then  he  has  borne  a  mother's  love  towards  me. 
He  talks  to  me  as  one  talks  to  little  children,  and 
he  weeps  as  he  watches  me  sleep." 

"Do  you  dwell  with  him?" 

"Yes,  in  the  keeper's  cottage  at  the  other  end  of 
the  park." 

"I  know,  one  follows  the  mandragora  path. 
How  comes  it  I  have  not  met  you  before?  By 
what  melancholy  chance  have  I,  although  so  near  to 
you,  lived  without  seeing  you?  But  do  I  say  lived? 
Is  it  life  to  live  without  knowing  you?  You  are 
kept  close  then  in  this  cottage?" 

"It  is  true  that  I  live  very  secludedly,  and  that  I 
cannot  go  for  walks  or  shopping  or  to  the  plays  as 
I  should  like.  Mosaide's  affection  for  me  allows 
me  no  freedom.  He  keeps  me  jealously,  and  in  all 
the  world  he  loves  but  me,  and  six  little  gold  cups 
that  he  brought  from  Lisbon.  As  he  is  far  more 
attached  to  me  than  he  was  to  my  aunt  Myriam,  he 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  123 

would  kill  you,  my  friend,  with  a  better  will  than 
he  killed  the  Portuguese.  I  warn  you  of  it  to  make 
you  discreet,  and  because  it  is  not  a  consideration 
which  will  give  pause  to  a  man  of  mettle.  Are  you 
a  man  of  quality  and  born  of  a  good  family?" 

"Alas,  no,"  I  replied,  "my  father  practises  one 
of  the  mechanic  arts,  and  is  in  a  kind  of  business." 

"Is  he  in  the  Revenue?  Has  he  any  office  of 
profit?  No?  .  .  .  That's  a  pity.  So  one  must 
love  you  for  yourself  alone.  But  tell  me  the  truth : 
Will  not  Monsieur  d'Astarac  soon  be  here?" 

At  this  name,  at  this  query,  a  horrible  doubt 
crossed  my  mind.  I  suspected  that  this  ravishing 
young  woman,  Jael,  had  been  sent  by  the  cabalist  to 
play  the  role  of  a  Salamander  to  me.  I  even  se- 
cretly accused  her  of  playing  the  Nymph  to  this  old 
madman.  To  be  immediately  enlightened  on  the 
subject,  I  asked  her  roughly,  if  she  were  in  the  habit 
of  playing  the  Salamander  in  the  castle? 

"I  fail  to  understand  you,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing at  me  with  eyes  full  of  innocent  surprise. 
"You  speak  like  Monsieur  d'Astarac  himself,  and  I 
should  think  you  infected  with  his  complaint  had  I 
not  proved  that  you  do  not  share  his  aversion  from 
women.  He  cannot  abide  them,  and  it  is  a  real 
embarrassment  to  me  to  see  him  and  to  speak  to 
him.  Nevertheless,  I  was  looking  for  him  a  short 
time  ago  when  I  found  you." 

In  my  joy  at  being  thus  reassured  I  covered  her 
with  kisses.  She  managed  to  let  me  see  that  she 
wore  black  stockings,  fastened  above  the  knee  with 
diamond-buckled  garters,  and  the  sight  of  them 
turned  my  mind  to  fancies  which  pleased  her.  On 
her  side,  she  led  me  on  with  much  skill  and  warmth 
of  affection,  and  I  felt  the  spirit  of  play  beginning 


i24  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

to  wake  in  her  at  a  moment  when  I  began  to  weary 
of  it.  However,  I  did  my  best  and  was  again 
happy  in  being  able  to  spare  this  delightful  person 
the  affront  that  she  least  deserved.  It  seemed  to 
me  she  was  not  ill-pleased  with  me.  She  rose  up 
with  a  tranquil  mien  and  said: 

"Do  you  not  really  know  whether  Monsieur 
d'Astarac  will  soon  be  back?  I  will  confess  to  you 
I  came  to  ask  him  for  a  small  sum  of  money  owing 
on  my  uncle's  pension,  of  which  for  the  moment  I 
am  in  great  need." 

I  apologetically  pulled  three  ecus  from  my  purse 
which  she  did  me  the  kindness  to  accept.  It  was 
all  that  was  left  to  me  from  the  too  rare  generosi- 
ties of  the  cabalist,  who,  professing  fo  disdain 
money,  unluckily  forgot  to  pay  my  wages. 

I  asked  Mademoiselle  Jael  if  I  should  not  have 
the  good  fortune  to  see  her  again. 

"You  shall,"  she  said. 

And  we  arranged  that  she  should  come  to  my 
room  at  night  whenever  she  could  make  her  escape 
from  the  cottage  where  she  was  kept. 

"Only  take  care,"  said  I,  "my  door  is  the  fourth 
on  the  right  in  the  corridor,  and  the  fifth  is  that  of 
my  good  master,  Abbe  Coignard.  The  others," 
added  I,  "merely  lead  to  the  attics,  which  accom- 
modate two  or  three  of  the  scullions,  and  many  hun- 
dreds of  rats." 

She  assured  me  she  would  take  care  to  make  no 
mistake,  and  that  she  would  tap  at  my  door  and  no 
other. 

"For  the  matter  of  that,  your  Abbe  Coignard 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  very  good  sort  of  man.  I 
think  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from  him.  I  saw 
him  through  a  peephole  the  day  he  came  with  you 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  125 

to  see  my  uncle.  He  seemed  to  be  amiable,  though 
I  could  scarcely  hear  what  he  said.  His  nose,  in 
particular,  seemed  clever  and  capable.  He  who 
bears  it  must  be  a  man  of  resource,  and  I  should 
like  to  make  his  acquaintance.  There  is  always 
something  to  be  had  from  the  society  of  men  of 
parts.  I  am  only  sorry  that  he  displeased  my  uncle 
by  his  freedom  of  speech  and  his  jesting  humours. 
Mosai'de  hates  him,  and  he  has  a  capacity  for 
hatred  quite  unimaginable  by  a  Christian." 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  replied,  "Monsieur  1'Abbe 
Jerome  Coignard  is  a  very  learned  man,  and  he  is 
moreover  a  philosopher  and  a  benevolent  one. 
He  knows  the  world,  and  you  are  right  in  thinking 
his  counsel  worthy  of  following.  I  live  entirely  un- 
der his  guidance.  But  tell  me,  did  you  not  see  me 
also  that  day  from  your  peephole  in  the  cottage?" 

"I  saw  you,"  said  she,  "and  I  will  not  deny  that 
I  saw  you  very  plainly.  But  I  must  return  to  my 
uncle.  Farewell." 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  did  not  fail  to  ask  me  that 
night  after  supper  for  news  of  the  Salamander. 
His  curiosity  embarrassed  me  not  a  little.  I  an- 
swered that  the  meeting  had  surpassed  my  hopes, 
but  that  beyond  that  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  keep 
the  reserve  fitting  in  adventures  of  the  kind. 

"This  discretion,  my  son,"  said  he,  "is  not  as 
necessary  as  you  think.  Salamanders  do  not  re- 
quire secrecy  on  the  subject  of  amours  of  which  they 
are  not  ashamed.  One  of  these  Nymphs,  who 
loves  me,  has  no  dearer  pastime  in  my  absence  than 
to  cut  my  initials  entwined  with  hers  on  the  bark 
of  the  trees,  as  you  may  satisfy  yourself  by  exam- 
ining the  trunks  of  five  or  six  pines  whose  graceful 
tops  you  can  see  from  here.  But  have  you  not 


126  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

noticed,  my  son,  that  this  kind  of  love,  so  sublime, 
far  from  leaving  one  fatigued  imparts  fresh  vigour 
to  the  heart?  I  am  sure  that  after  what  has  passed 
you  will  busy  yourself  to-night  by  translating  at 
least  sixty  pages  of  Zozimus  the  Panipolitan." 

I  confessed  that,  on  the  contrary,  I  felt  a  great 
desire  to  sleep,  which  he  explained  by  the  'surprise 
of  a  first  interview.  And  so  the  great  man  rested 
assured  that  I  had  had  dealings  with  a  Salamander. 
I  felt  scruples  about  deceiving  him,  but  I  was 
obliged  to,  and,  indeed,  he  so  deceived  himself  that 
one  could  scarcely  add  much  to  his  illusions.  So 
I  sought  my  couch  in  peace  of  mind :  and  having  got 
to  bed,  I  blew  out  my  candle  and  closed  the  sweet- 
est day  of  my  life. 


XV 


AEL  kept  her  word.  No  later  than 
the  day  after  the  morrow  she  came 
tapping  at  my  door.  We  were 
much  more  at  home  in  my  room  than 
we  had  been  in  Monsieur  d' Astarac's 
study,  and  what  took  place  at  our 
first  meeting  was  but  child's  play 
compared  with  what  love  inspired  us  with  at  our 
second.  She  tore  herself  from  my  arms  at  the 
break  of  day  with  a  thousand  vows  to  join  me  soon 
again,  calling  me  her  life,  her  soul,  and  her  pet. 

I  got  up  very  late  that  day.  When  I  went  down 
to  the  library  my  good  master  was  seated  before 
the  papyrus  of  Zozimus,  his  pen  in  one  hand,  his 
magnifying  glass  in  the  other,  and  worthy  the  ad- 
miration of  any  one  who  can  appreciate  learning 
and  letters. 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,"  he  said  to  me,  "the 
principal  difficulty  in  reading  this  lies  in  the  fact 
that  various  of  the  letters  may  easily  be  confounded 
with  others,  and  it  is  needful  to  success  in  decipher- 
ing it,  to  draw  up  a  table  of  the  characters  which 
lend  themselves  to  mistakes  of  this  kind;  for  unless 
we  take  this  precaution  we  risk  the  adoption  of 
wrong  readings,  to  our  eternal  shame  and  just  vili- 
fication. I  have  made  some  laughable  blunders 
this  very  day  since  matins.  I  must  have  had  my 
mind  distracted  by  what  I  saw  last  night,  which  I 
will  tell  you  about.  Having  woke  up  in  the  early 
dawn  I  felt  a  desire  for  a  draught  of  that  light 
127 


128  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

white  wine  which,  you  will  remember,  I  compli- 
mented Monsieur  d'Astarac  on  yesterday.  For 
there  is  a  sympathy,  my  son,  between  white  wine 
and  cock-crow  dating  certainly  from  the  time  of 
Noah,  and  I  feel  certain  that  if  St.  Peter,  during 
the  cursed  night  he  spent  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
high-priest,  had  drunk  a  finger  of  clear  Moselle 
wine  or  even  of  that  of  Orleans,  he  would  not  have 
denied  Jesus  before  the  cock  crew  twice.  But  we 
must  in  no  wise  regret  this  ill  deed,  my  son,  for  it 
was  necessary  that  the  prophecies  should  be  ful- 
filled; and  if  Peter,  or  Cephas,  as  he  was  called, 
had  not  that  night  committed  the  worst  of  infamies 
he  would  not  be  to-day  the  greatest  saint  in  Para- 
dise and  the  corner-stone  of  our  holy  Church,  to 
the  utter  confusion  of  the  good  people  of  this  world 
who  see  the  keys  of  their  eternal  happiness  held  by 
a  cowardly  good-for-nothing.  Oh !  wholesome  ex- 
ample !  which  draws  man  from  the  fallacious  in- 
spirations of  human  honour  and  leads  him  in  the 
way  of  salvation !  O  wise  system  of  religion  !  O 
divine  wisdom  which  exalteth  the  humble  and  the 
meek  and  putteth  down  the  mighty!  Oh  marvel! 
Oh  mystery ! 

"To  the  eternal  shame  of  the  Pharisees  and  law- 
yers, a  coarse  fisherman  from  the  lake  of  Tiberias, 
who,  by  his  clumsy  cowardice  had  become  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  wenches  in  the  high-priest's 
kitchen,  where  they  warmed  themselves  side  by  side, 
a  boor  and  a  coward  who  denied  his  master  and 
his  faith  before  dirty  wenches  far  less  pretty  than 
the  chambermaid  of  the  bailiff's  household  at  Seez, 
wears  on  his  brow  the  triple  crown,  on  his  finger  the 
pontifical  ring,  is  set  above  the  princes  of  the 
church,  kings,  and  emperor,  and  is  invested  with  the 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  129 

power  to  bind  and  to  loose;  the  most  respectable 
man,  the  most  worthy  woman,  can  enter  heaven 
only  if  he  give  them  access  to  it.  But  tell  me, 
Tournebroche,  my  son,  how  far  had  I  got  in  my 
narrative  when  I  lost  my  thread  running  after  the 
great  Saint  Peter,  prince  of  Apostles.  I  am  al- 
most sure  I  was  speaking  of  a  glass  of  white  wine 
that  I  drank  at  dawn.  I  went  down  in  my  night 
garments  to  the  store-room  and  drew  from  a  cer- 
tain cupboard,  of  which  I  had  thoughtfully  obtained 
the  key  the  night  before,  a  bottle,  which  I  emptied 
with  enjoyment.  Afterwards,  on  going  upstairs,  I 
met  between  the  second  and  third  floors  a  little  lady 
in  white,  who  was  going  down.  She  seemed  very 
frightened  and  fled  to  the  end  of  the  corridor.  I 
followed  her,  I  caught  her  up,  I  seized  her  in  my 
arms  and  kissed  her,  suddenly  and  irresistibly  at- 
tracted by  her.  Do  not  blame  me,  my  son,  you 
would  have  done  the  same  in  my  place,  perhaps 
even  more.  She  was  a  pretty  girl,  she  was  like  the 
bailiff's  chambermaid,  but  with  more  sparkle  in  her 
eye.  She  did  not  dare  cry  out.  She  whispered  in 
my  ear:  'Let  me  go!  let  me  go!  you  are  mad!' 
Look,  Tournebroche,  I  still  bear  the  marks  of  her 
nails  on  my  wrists.  Had  I  but  kept  the  impression 
of  her  kiss  as  vividly  on  my  lips !" 

"What,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  I  exclaimed,  "she 
gave  you  a  kiss?" 

"Rest  assured,  my  son,"  replied  my  good  master, 
"that  had  you  been  in  my  place  you  would  have 
received  one  as  good,  had  you  seized  the  opportun- 
ity as  I  did.  I  think  I  told  you  that  I  held  the 
young  lady  in  a  close  embrace.  She  tried  to  get 
away,  she  stifled  her  cries,  she  murmured  lamenta- 
tions. 


130  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"  'I  beseech  you  to  let  me  go.  Here  is  the  dawn, 
a  moment  longer,  and  I  am  lost.' 

"Her  fears,  her  terror,  her  peril,  what  savage 
would  not  have  been  touched  by  them?  I  am  not 
inhuman.  I  gave  her  her  liberty  at  the  price  of  a 
kiss  which  she  gave  me  at  once.  I  give  you  my 
word  I  have  never  received  a  more  delicious  one." 

At  this  point  of  his  story  my  good  master  raised 
his  nose  to  inhale  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  saw  my 
trouble  and  my  distress,  which  he  took  for  surprise. 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,"  he  continued,  "what  I 
have  still  to  tell  you  will  surprise  you  even  more. 
With  regret  I  let  the  pretty  lass  go,  but  my  curios- 
ity impelled  me  to  follow  her.  I  went  downstairs 
after  her.  I  saw  her  cross  the  vestibule,  go  out  by 
the  little  door  which  opens  on  to  the  fields  on  the 
side  where  the  park  stretches  out  widest,  and  run 
down  the  path.  I  ran  after  her.  I  thought  she 
could  not  go  far  in  night-garb  and  night-cap.  She 
took  the  mandragora  path.  My  curiosity  re- 
doubled and  I  followed  her  as  far  as  Mosaide's  cot- 
tage. At  that  moment  that  wicked  Jew  appeared 
at  the  window,  in  his  robe  and  his  great  cap,  like 
those  figures  you  see  appear  when  mid-day  strikes 
on  old  clocks,  more  ridiculous  and  Gothic  than  are 
the  churches  which  preserve  them  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  country  bumpkins  and  the  profit  of  the 
verger. 

"He  discovered  me  under  the  greenwood  at  the 
very  moment  when  the  pretty  girl,  swift  as  Galatea 
herself,  slipped  into  the  cottage.  So  that  I  had 
exactly  the  appearance  of  pursuing  her  in  the  man- 
ner and  style  of  the  Satyrs  we  spoke  of  one  day 
when  discussing  some  fine  passages  in  Ovid.  And 
my  dress  helped  the  likeness,  for,  I  think  I  told 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  131 

you,  my  son,  I  was  in  my  night-garments.  At  the 
sight  of  me  Mosai'de's  eyes  glittered.  He  drew 
from  his  dirty  yellow  cloak  a  useful-looking  stiletto 
and  brandished  it  out  of  the  window  with  an  arm 
which  seemed  by  no  means  weighed  down  with  age. 
Meanwhile  he  swore  at  me  bi-lingually.  Yes, 
Tournebroche,  my  knowledge  of  grammar  author- 
ises me  to  state  that  his  curses  were  bi-lingual,  and 
Spanish,  or  rather  Portuguese,  was  mingled  with 
Hebrew.  It  angered  me  that  I  could  not  catch  the 
exact  meaning,  for  I  do  not  understand  these  lan- 
guages although  I  can  recognise  them  by  certain 
sounds  which  constantly  recur.  But  it  is  very  likely 
that  he  accused  me  of  corrupting  this  girl  who  is  I 
believe  his  niece  Jael,  whom  Monsieur  d'Astarac, 
you  may  remember,  has  mentioned  to  us  several 
times.  Wherein  his  invectives  conveyed  something 
of  flattery;  for  such  as  I  have  become  my  son,  what 
with  the  passing  of  time  and  the  fatigues  of  a 
troubled  life  I  do  not  pretend  any  longer  to  the 
love  of  young  maidens.  Alas!  unless  I  become  a 
bishop  it  is  a  dish  whose  flavour  I  shall  never  know 
again.  I  regret  it.  But  one  must  not  be  too 
strongly  attached  to  the  perishable  things  of  this 
world  and  we  must  renounce  what  renounces  us. 
Mosai'de,  then,  handling  his  stiletto,  poured  hoarse 
sounds  from  his  throat  alternating  with  shrill 
screeches,  so  that  I  was  insulted  and  vituperated  in 
form  of  chant  or  canticle.  And  without  vanity, 
my  son,  I  may  say  I  was  treated  as  a  corrupter  and 
a  loose  fellow  in  a  solemn  and  ceremonious  tone. 
When  Mosai'de  came  to  the  end  of  his  imprecations, 
I  endeavoured  to  make  a  riposte  bi-lingual,  like  the 
attack.  I  accused  him  in  Latin  and  in  French  of 
homicide  and  sacrilege,  of  having  cut  the  throats 


1 32  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

of  little  children  and  poignarded  the  sacred  host. 
The  early  morning  breeze  playing  round  my  legs 
reminded  me  that  I  was  in  my  nightshirt.  I  felt 
somewhat  embarrassed,  for  it  is  very  evident,  my 
son,  that  a  man  who  wears  no  breeches  is  in  a  poor 
position  to  explain  the  sacred  truths,  to  confound 
error  ard  follow  up  crime.  All  the  same  I  drew 
him  a  terrible  picture  of  his  outrages  and  menaced 
him  with  both  divine  and  human  justice. 

"What!  my  good  master,"  I  cried,  "this  Mo- 
sai'de,  who  has  so  pretty  a  niece,  has  cut  the  throats 
of  new-born  children  and  poignarded  the  sacred 
host?" 

"I  know  nothing  of  that,"  replied  Monsieur 
Jerome  Coignard,  "and  can  know  nothing  of  it. 
But  those  crimes  are  his,  being  those  of  his  race, 
and  I  may  attribute  them  to  him  without  doing 
him  wrong.  I  followed  this  up  with  a  long  list  of 
scoundrelly  ancestors  for  the  old  wretch.  For  you 
are  not  ignorant  of  what  is  said  of  the  Jews  and 
their  abominable  rites.  In  the  old  cosmography 
of  Munster  *  there  is  a  plate  representing  Jews 
mutilating  a  child,  and  they  are  recognisable  by  the 
wheel  of  cloth  they  bore  on  their  garments  as  a 
sign  of  disgrace.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  think  it 
was  an  every-day  and  household  usage  among 
them.  I  also  doubt  whether  all  these  Jews  should 
be  so  given  to  outraging  the  sacred  elements.  To 
accuse  them  of  it  is  to  believe  them  as  deeply  pene- 
trated as  ourselves  with  the  divinity  of  Our  Sav- 
iour Jesus  Christ.  For  one  cannot  imagine  sacri- 
lege without  faith,  and  the  Jew  who  stabbed  the 
sacred  host,  by  doing  so  rendered  a  sincere  homage 

*  Munster,    Sebastian.    Author   of    "Cosmographia    Universalis," 
b.  Ingelheim,  1489-1552. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  133 

to  the  truth  of  transubstantiation.  Those  are  all 
fables  we  may  leave  to  the  ignorant,  my  son,  and 
if  I  threw  them  in  the  face  of  that  horrible  Mo- 
saide, it  was  less  from  the  considered  beliefs  of  a 
sound  scholarship  than  from  the  swift  promptings 
of  resentment  and  anger." 

"Ah,  Monsieur,"  I  replied,  "you  might  have  sat- 
isfied yourself  with  reproaching  him  with  the  Portu- 
guese he  killed  from  jealousy,  for  that  was  a  real 
murder." 

"What!"  exclaimed  my  good  master,  "Mosaide 
has  killed  a  Christian.  Tournebroche,  we  have  in 
him  a  dangerous  neighbour.  But  you  will  draw  the 
conclusion  that  I  myself  draw  from  this  adventure. 
It  is  certain  that  his  niece  is  Monsieur  d'Astarac's 
light  of  love,  whose  room  she  was  surely  leaving 
when  I  met  her  on  the  stairs. 

"I  have  too  much  religion  not  to  regret  that 
such  a  charming  person  should  belong  to  the  race 
which  crucified  Jesus  Christ.  Alas!  there  is  no 
room  for  doubt,  my  son,  this  wicked  Mordecai  is 
uncle  to  an  Esther  who  has  no  need  to  bathe  for  six 
months  in  myrrh  before  she  be  worthy  of  the  couch 
of  a  king.  This  magic-working  old  crow  is  not  at 
all  suitable  for  such  a  beauty,  and  I  feel  an  inter- 
est in  her  waking  in  me.  Mosaide  must  hide  her 
with  the  utmost  secrecy,  for  were  she  seen  one  day 
at  court  or  at  the  play,  she  would  have  all  the 
world  at  her  feet  on  the  morrow.  Do  you  not 
wish  to  see  her,  Tournebroche?" 

I  replied  that  I  should  like  to  very  much,  and  we 
buried  ourselves  once  more  in  our  Greek. 


XVI 

NE  evening  my  good  master  and  I 
finding  ourselves  in  the  Rue  du  Bac, 
he  said  to  me,  for  it  was  a  warm 
night :  "Jacques  Tournebroche,  my 
son,  how  would  it  suit  you  to  turn  up 
here  to  the  left,  up  the  Rue  de  Cre- 
nelle, and  look  for  a  cabaret?  We 
must  also  find  a  landlord  who  sells  wine  at  two  sous 
the  pot,  for  I  am  devoid  of  money,  and  I  think  you 
are  no  better  provided  than  I  am,  my  son,  by  fault 
of  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  who  may  make  gold  but 
who  gives  none  to  his  servants  and  his  secretaries, 
as  far  as  can  be  seen  in  our  case.  The  state  he 
leaves  us  in  is  distressing.  I  am  not  worth  a  penny, 
and  I  see  that  my  own  industry  or  cunning  must 
make  good  this  formidable  ill.  It  is  very  fine  to 
bear  poverty  with  an  equal  mind,  as  did  Epictetus, 
and  gained  thereby  an  imperishable  glory.  But  it 
is  a  practice  I  am  tired  of,  and  it  has  become  tedi- 
ous by  its  very  sameness.  I  feel  it  is  high  time 
that  I  tried  some  other  virtue,  and  that  I  practised 
myself  in  the  art  of  possessing  wealth  without 
wealth  possessing  me,  which  is  a  very  noble  state 
of  things,  and  the  best  that  a  philosopher  can  at- 
tain to.  I  would  gladly  come  by  something,  were 
it  only  to  show  that  my  wits  did  not  desert  me  even 
in  prosperity.  I  seek  the  means,  you  see  me  pon- 
dering thereon,  Tournebroche,  my  son." 

While  my  good  master  was  speaking  in  this  ele- 
gant fashion  we  approached  the  pretty  house  where 
134 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  135 

Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude  had  established  Cather- 
ine. "You  will  know  it,"  she  had  said  to  me,  "by 
the  roses  on  the  balcony."  It  was  not  light  enough 
for  me  to  see  the  roses,  but  I  thought  I  could 
scent  them.  A  few  paces  further  and  I  recognised 
her  at  the  window,  a  jug  of  water  in  her  hand,  water- 
ing her  flowers.  At  the  same  moment  she  recog- 
nised me  in  the  street  below,  and  she  laughed  and 
blew  me  a  kiss.  Whereupon  a  hand  appearing  at 
the  window  gave  her  a  smack  on  the  cheek  which 
so  surprised  her  that  she  dropped  the  jug  of  water 
which  all  but  fell  on  my  good  master's  head.  Then 
the  buffeted  fair  one  disappeared,  and  the  buffeter, 
taking  her  place  at  the  window,  leant  over  the  rail- 
ing and  called  out: 

"God  be  praised  that  you  are  not  the  capuchin ! 
I  cannot  endure  my  mistress  blowing  kisses  to  that 
evil-smelling  beast  who  prowls  for  ever  under  the 
window.  At  least  I  need  not  blush  for  her  taste 
this  time.  You  seem  to  me  to  be  an  honest  fellow, 
and  I  think  that  I  have  seen  you  before.  Do  me 
the  honour  to  come  up.  There  is  supper  prepared 
within.  You  will  do  me  pleasure  if  you  will  share 
it,  along  with  Monsieur  1'Abbe  there,  who  has  just 
received  a  potful  of  water  on  his  head  and  is  shak- 
ing himself  like  a  wet  dog.  After  supper  we  will 
play  cards,  and  as  soon  as  it  is  light  we  will  go  and 
cut  each  other's  throats.  But  that  will  be  out  of 
pure  politeness  and  only  to  do  you  honour,  Mon- 
sieur, for  truth  to  tell,  this  young  woman  is  not 
worth  a  sword-thrust.  She  is  a  hussy  whom  I 
never  wish  to  see  again." 

I  recognised  him  who  spoke  thus  as  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil,  whom  I  had  lately  seen  encouraging  his 
men  so  actively  to  prick  brother  Ange  in  the  rear. 


136  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

He  spoke  civilly,  and  treated  me  as  a  gentleman.  I 
felt  the  favour  he  did  me  in  consenting  to  cut  my 
throat.  My  good  master  was  no  less  affected  by 
such  urbanity.  Having  shaken  himself  sufficiently, 
he  said: 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,  my  son,  we  cannot  refuse 
such  a  gracious  invitation." 

Two  lackeys  had  already  descended  with  torches. 
They  led  us  to  a  room  where  a  cold  collation  was 
spread  on  a  table  lighted  by  two  silver  candelabra. 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil  begged  us  to  be  seated,  and 
my  good  master  tied  his  napkin  round  his  neck. 
He  had  already  impaled  a  lark  on  the  end  of  his 
fork  when  the  sound  of  sobbing  smote  our  ears. 

"Take  no  notice  of  those  cries,"  said  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil,  "they  come  from  Catherine,  whom  I 
have  shut  up  in  her  room." 

"Ah,  Monsieur!  you  must  forgive  her,"  said  my 
good  master,  gazing  sadly  at  the  little  bird  at  the 
end  of  his  fork.  "The  most  succulent  dishes  taste 
bitter  when  seasoned  with  tears  and  cries.  How 
have  you  the  heart  to  let  a  woman  cry?  Be  indul- 
gent to  this  one,  I  implore  you.  Is  she  then  so 
guilty  for  having  blown  a  kiss  to  my  young  pupil, 
who  was  her  neighbour  and  her  companion  in  the 
simple  time  of  their  youth,  when  the  charms  of 
this  pretty  girl  were  only  known  in  the  arbour  of 
the  Petit  Bacchus?  There  is  nothing  therein  but 
what  is  innocent,  if  it  so  be  that  any  human  action, 
and  more  particularly  the  action  of  a  woman 
can  be  entirely  innocent  and  free  from  original  sin. 
Allow  me  also  to  tell  you,  Monsieur,  that  jealousy 
is  a  Gothic  sentiment,  a  melancholy  remnant  of 
barbarous  customs,  which  should  find  no  place  in 
an  elegant  and  well-bred  mind." 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  137 

"Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Anque- 
til,  "from  what  do  you  conclude  that  I  am  jealous? 
I  am  not.  But  I  will  not  allow  a  woman  to  make 
light  of  me." 

"We  are  the  playthings  of  the  winds,"  said  my 
good  master  with  a  sigh.  "Everything  laughs  at 
us,  sky,  stars,  rain,  breezes,  light  and  shade,  and 
woman  herself.  Allow  Catherine  to  sup  with  us, 
Monsieur.  She  is  pretty,  she  will  enliven  your 
table.  All  that  she  may  have  done,  that  kiss  and 
what  more,  makes  her  no  less  pleasing  to  look  upon. 
Woman's  infidelities  do  not  mar  her  face.  Nature, 
who  delights  in  decking  them,  is  indifferent  to  their 
faults.  Imitate  her,  Monsieur,  and  forgive  Cath- 
erine." 

I  joined  my  prayers  to  those  of  my  good  master, 
and  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  consented  to  liberate  the 
prisoner.  He  went  to  the  door  whence  the  cries 
came,  opened  it,  and  called  Catherine,  who  replied 
merely  by  renewed  lamentations. 

"Messieurs,"  her  lover  told  us,  "she  is  there  ly- 
ing flat  on  her  chest  on  her  bed,  her  head  buried 
in  the  pillow,  and  making  ridiculous  contortions  at 
every  sob.  Look  at  her!  There  is  the  sort  of 
thing  for  which  we  make  ourselves  so  unhappy  and 
commit  so  many  follies!  .  .  .  Catherine,  come  to 
supper!" 

But  Catherine  did  not  budge,  and  continued  cry- 
ing. He  went  and  took  her  by  the  arm,  by  the 
waist.  She  resisted.  He  became  urgent:  "Come 
then,  come,  my  darling!" 

She  stayed  obstinately  where  she  was,  holding  on 
to  the  bed  and  the  mattress. 

Her  lover  lost  patience  at  last,  and  cried  in  a 
rough  voice,  with  many  oaths,  "Get  up,  you  wench." 


138  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

She  immediately  got  up  and,  smiling  amid  her 
tears,  took  his  arm  and  came  into  the  dining  room, 
a  not  unhappy  victim.  She  sat  down  between  Mon- 
sieur d'Anquetil  and  me,  her  head  on  her  lover's 
shoulder,  and  seeking  my  foot  with  hers  under  the 
table. 

"Messieurs,"  said  our  host,  "I  trust  you  will  for- 
give an  impetuous  action  I  cannot  regret  since  it 
gives  me  the  honour  of  entertaining  you  here.  I 
really  cannot  put  up  with  all  the  caprices  of  this 
charming  young  woman,  and  I  have  become  very 
suspicious  since  I  surprised  her  with  her  capuchin." 

"My  friend,"  said  Catherine,  pressing  my  foot 
with  hers,  "your  jealousy  is  at  fault.  Know  then, 
that  I  have  no  fancy  for  any  one -but  for  Monsieur 
Jacques." 

"She  mocks  me,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil. 

"Have  no  doubt  about  that,"  I  replied.  "One 
can  see  she  .loves  but  you." 

"Without  vanity,"  he  answered,  "I  think  I  have 
inspired  her  with  some  interest.  But  she  is  a  co- 
quette." 

"A  drink!"  said  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard. 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  passed  the  demi-john  to  my 
good  master,  and  exclaimed  as  he  did  so : 

"Pardi  1'Abbe,  as  you  belong  to  the  Church  you 
can  perhaps  tell  us  why  women  love  monks?" 

Monsieur  Coignard  wiped  his  lips  and  said: 

"The  reason  is  that  monks  love  with  humility, 
and  lend  themselves  to  anything.  Another  reason 
is  that  their  natural  instincts  have  not  been  weak- 
ened by  taking  thought  or  by  having  any  care  for 
their  manners.  This  is  a  generous  wine,  Mon- 
sieur." 

"You  do  me  too  much  honour,"   replied  Mon- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  139 

sieur  d'Anquetil.  "The  wine  is  Monsieur  de  la  Gue- 
ritaude's.  I  took  his  mistress  from  him,  I  may 
well  take  his  bottles." 

"Nothing  could  be  fairer,"  replied  my  good  mas- 
ter. "I  see,  Monsieur,  that  you  are  not  a  man  to 
stand  on  convention." 

"Do  not  praise  me  more  than  is  fitting,  1'Abbe," 
answered  Monsieur  d'Anquetil.  "My  birth  ren- 
ders easy  to  me  what  would  be  difficult  for  the  vul- 
gar. A  common  man  is  forced  to  put  restraint  on 
all  his  actions.  He  is  the  slave  of  a  strict  upright- 
ness, but  a  gentleman  has  the  honour  to  fight  for 
his  king  and  for  his  own  pleasure.  That  dispenses 
him  from  troubling  himself  about  silly  trifles.  I 
have  served  under  Monsieur  de  Villars,*  and  I 
fought  in  the  war  of  succession,  and  I  risked  being 
killed  for  no  reason  at  the  battle  of  Parma.  Surely 
it  is  a  small  matter  that  in  return  I  beat  my  men, 
defraud  my  creditors,  and,  should  it  please  me, 
steal  my  neighbour's  wife  or  his  mistress." 

"You  speak  like  a  nobleman,"  said  my  good 
master,  "and  you  are  jealous  to  uphold  the  pre- 
rogatives of  nobility." 

"I  have  none  of  those  scruples,"  continued  Mon- 
sieur d'Anquetil,  "which  intimidate  the  mass  of 
mankind  and  which  I  hold  useful  merely  to  give 
halt  to  the  fearful  and  to  restrain  the  discontented." 

"Well  and  good,"  said  my  excellent  master. 

"I  do  not  believe  in  virtue,"  said  the  other. 

"You  are  right,"  said  my  good  master.  "See- 
ing the  way  in  which  the  human  animal  is  made  he 
could  not  be  virtuous  without  some  deformity. 
Look  at  this  pretty  girl  for  instance  who  is  supping 

*  Villars,  Louis  Hector  de.     Marshal  of  France,  commanded   at 

Malplaquet,  1653-1734. 


i4o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

with  us:  her  little  head,  her  beautiful  throat,  her 
charmingly  rounded  form  and  all  the  rest.  In 
what  corner  of  her  person  could  a  grain  of  virtue 
find  lodgment?  There  is  no  room,  all  is  so  firm, 
so  full  of  sap,  plump  and  well  filled.  Virtue  like 
the  raven  lives  among  the  ruins.  It  is  to  be  found 
in  the  lines  and  wrinkles  of  the  body.  I  myself, 
Monsieur,  who  since  my  childhood  have  pondered 
the  austere  maxims  of  religion  and  philosophy,  I 
have  been  unable  to  insinuate  any  virtue  in  myself 
save  by  the  breaches  made  by  suffering  and  age  in 
my  constitution.  And  yet  each  time  I  have  been 
filled  less  with  virtue  than  with  pride.  So  I  am  in 
the  habit  of  praying  to  the  Creator  of  the  world 
in  this  wise:  'My  God,  keep  me  from  virtue  if  it 
remove  me  from  holiness.'  Ah,  holiness!  that  is 
what  it  is  possible  and  needful  to  attain  to !  There 
is  the  goal  that  befits  us!  May  we  reach  it  one 
day!  In  the  meanwhile,  give  me  something  to 
drink." 

"I  will  confide  to  you  that  I  do  not  believe  in 
God,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil. 

"For  once  I  think  you  are  to  blame,  Monsieur," 
said  the  Abbe.  "One  must  believe  in  God  and  in 
all  the  truths  of  our  holy  religion." 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  cried  out:  "You  are  laugh- 
ing at  us,  1'Abbe,  and  you  take  us  to  be  far  more 
foolish  than  we  are.  I  tell  you  I  neither  believe  in 
God  nor  devil,  and  I  never  go  to  Mass  unless  to 
the  king's  Mass.  Priestly  discourses  are  but  old 
wives'  tales,  only  endurable,  if  then,  in  the  days 
when  my  grandmother  saw  the  Abbe  de  Choisy, 
dressed  as  a  woman,  distributing  the  blessed  bread 
in  the  church  of  St.  Jacques-du-Haut-Pas.  There 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  141 

may  have  been  such  a  thing  as  religion  in  those 
days.  There  is  none  now,  thank  God!" 

"In  the  name  of  all  the  saints  and  devils  do  not 
speak  thus,  my  friend,"  exclaimed  Catherine. 
"God  exists  as  certainly  as  this  pie  is  on  the  table, 
and  the  proof  is  that  one  day  last  year,  finding  my- 
self in  great  poverty  and  distress,  on  brother 
Ange's  advice,  I  burnt  a  candle  in  the  church  of  the 
capuchins,  and  on  the  morrow  I  met  Monsieur  de  la 
Gueritaude  out  walking,  who  gave  me  this  house 
with  all  its  furniture  and  the  cellar  full  of  wine 
that  we  are  now  drinking,  and  enough  money  to  live 
honestly." 

"Fie!  Fie!"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "the 
foolish  wench  drags  God  into  her  wretched  affairs ! 
It  is  so  shocking  that  it  offends  one  even  though 
one  be  an  atheist." 

"Monsieur,"  said  my  good  master,  "it  is  infinitely 
better  to  drag  God  into  one's  wretched  affairs,  as 
does  this  simple-minded  girl,  than  after  your  fash- 
ion to  turn  Him  out  of  the  world  He  has  created. 
If  He  did  not  especially  send  that  fat  money-dealer 
to  Catherine,  He  at  least  allowed  her  to  meet  him. 
We  are  ignorant  of  His  ways,  and  what  this  inno- 
cent being  says  contains  more  truth,  notwithstand- 
ing some  admixture  and  alloy  of  blasphemy,  than 
all  the  vain  speeches  spouted  by  the  impious  from 
an  empty  heart.  There  is  nothing  more  detestable 
than  this  libertinage  of  mind  displayed  by  the  youth 
of  to-day.  Your  words  make  one  shudder.  Shall 
I  answer  them  with  proofs  drawn  from  holy  books 
and  the  writings  of  the  Fathers?  Shall  I  make  you 
listen  to  the  Almighty  as  He  spoke  to  the  patriarchs 
and  the  prophets?  Sicut  locutus  est  Abraham  et 


i42  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

seminl  ejus  in  sacula?  Shall  I  unroll  the  traditions 
of  the  Church  before  your  eyes?  Shall  I  invoke  the 
authority  of  the  two  Testaments  against  you  ?  Shall 
I  overwhelm  you  with  the  miracles  of  Christ?  And 
His  words  as  miraculous  as  His  acts?  No.  I 
will  not  take  up  these  holy  weapons.  I  fear  too 
greatly  to  profane  them  in  this  combat,  which  is  not 
serious.  The  Church  warns  us  in  her  prudence 
that  edification  should  not  be  made  an  occasion  for 
scandal.  Therefore  I  shall  remain  silent,  Mon- 
sieur, on  the  subject  of  the  truths  on  which  I  was 
fed  at  the  foot  of  the  altar.  But  without  doing  vio- 
lence to  the  pure  modesty  of  my  soul,  and  without 
exposing  the  sacred  mysteries  to  profanation,  I  will 
show  to  you  the  Almighty  ruling  over  the  reason  of 
mankind,  I  will  show  you  Him  in  pagan  philosophy 
and  even  in  the  speeches  of  the  impious.  Yes, 
Monsieur,  I  will  make  you  recognise  that  you  pro- 
fess Him  in  spite  of  yourself  even  while  you  pre- 
tend that  He  does  not  exist.  For  you  will  grant 
that  if  there  is  an  ordering  of  things  in  this  world 
it  is  a  divine  ordering,  and  flows  from  the  source 
and  fountain  of  all  order." 

"I  grant  you  that,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
lying  back  in  his  armchair  and  stroking  his  leg, 
which  was  well  turned. 

"Mind  what  you  say  then,"  continued  my  good 
master.  "Even  while  you  say  that  God  does  not 
exist,  what  are  you  doing  but  stringing  thoughts 
together,  marshalling  your  reasons  and  manifesting 
in  yourself  the  primary  cause  of  all  thought  and  all 
reason,  which  is  God?  And  can  one  even  attempt 
to  establish  the  fact  that  He  does  not  exist  without 
making  conspicuous  by  this  worst  of  all  arguments, 
which  is  nevertheless  an  argument,  some  remnant 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  143 

of  the  harmony  that  He  has  established  in  the  uni- 
verse?" 

"L'Abbe,"  replied  M.  d'Anquetil,  "y°u  are  an 
amiable  sophist.  One  knows  nowadays  that  the 
world  is  but  the  work  of  blind  chance,  and  we  must 
no  longer  speak  of  Providence  since  the  physicists 
have  seen  winged  frogs  in  the  moon  by  the  aid  of 
their  glasses." 

"Well,  Monsieur,"  answered  my  good  master, 
"I  am  in  no  wise  troubled  that  there  should  be 
winged  frogs  in  the  moon ;  such  marsh-fowl  are  suit- 
able inhabitants  for  a  world  which  has  not  been 
sanctified  by  the  blood  of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  I 
confess  we  know  but  a  small  part  of  the  universe, 
and  may  be  as  Monsieur  d'Astarac  says,  who  by 
the  by,  is  quite  mad,  this  world  is  but  a  spot  of  mud 
in  an  infinity  of  worlds.  May  be  Copernicus,  the 
astronomer,  was  not  altogether  dreaming  when  he 
announced  that  the  earth  is  not  the  mathematical 
centre  of  the  universe.  I  have  read  that  an  Ital- 
ian, called  Galileo,  who  perished  miserably,  also 
thought  as  did  Copernicus,  and  to-day  we  see  little 
Monsieur  de  Fontenelle  *  in  accordance  with  this 
way  of  thinking.  But  these  are  but  vain  imagin- 
ings fitted  merely  to  disturb  weak  minds.  What 
matters  it  that  the  physical  world  should  be  larger 
or  smaller,  of  one  shape  or  of  another?  It  suffices 
that  it  has  but  to  be  envisaged  through  the  light  of 
intelligence  and  reason  for  God  to  appear  manifest 
in  it. 

"If  the  meditations  of  a  sage  can  be  of  any  use 
to  you,  Monsieur,  I  will  teach  you  how  this  proof 
of  God's  existence,  better  than  the  proof  that  St. 

*  Fontenelle,  Bernard  Le  Bovier  de.  Nephew  of  Corneille,  sec- 
retary of  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  1657-1757. 


144  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

Anselm  gives  us,  and  quite  independent  of  those 
proofs  which  come  from  Revelation,  appeared  to 
me  suddenly  in  all  its  clearness.  It  was  at  Seez, 
twenty-five  years  ago,  I  was  librarian  to  my  lord- 
bishop,  and  the  library  windows  overlooked  a  yard 
where  I  saw  a  kitchen  maid. scouring  Monseigneur's 
pots  and  pans  every  morning.  She  was  tall,  young, 
and  strong.  A,  light  down  shaded  her  upper  lip, 
and  lent  a  provocation  and  a  charm  to  her  face. 
Her  tangled  hair,  her  thin  bust,  and  long  bare  arms 
were  as  suitable  to  Adonis  as  to  Diana,  in  fact  she 
was  a  boyish  beauty.  I  loved  her  for  it.  I  loved 
her  strong  red  hands.  In  a  word  this  girl  filled 
me  with  a  desire  as  strong  and  savage  as  herself. 
You  know  how  overmastering  such  feelings  are.  I 
made  mine  known  to  her  from  my  window  with 
few  words  and  signs.  She  let  me  understand  more 
briefly  still  that  she  responded  to  my  sentiments  and 
gave  me  a  rendez-vous  for  the  following  night  in 
the  loft,  where  she  slept  on  the  hay  by  the  kindness 
of  Monseigneur  whose  dishes  she  washed.  I 
awaited  the  coming  of  night  with  impatience. 
When  at  length  she  enfolded  the  earth  I  took  a  lad- 
der and  climbed  up  to  the  loft  where  the  girl 
awaited  me.  My  first  thought  was  to  embrace  her, 
my  second  to  admire  the  chain  of  events  which  had 
led  me  to  her  arms.  For  after  all,  Monsieur,  a 
young  divine,  a  kitchen  maid,  a  ladder,  a  bundle  of 
hay!  What  a  sequence!  what  an  ordering  of 
things!  What  a  just  meeting  of  pre-established 
harmonies!  What  a  linking  of  cause  and  effect! 
What  a  proof  of  the  existence  of  God!  That  is 
what  struck  me  so  strangely,  and  I  rejoice  at  being 
able  to  add  this  profane  demonstration  to  the  rea- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  145 

sons  supplied  by  theology  which  are  moreover 
amply  sufficient." 

"L'Abbe,"  said  Catherine,  "the  worst  part  of 
your  story  is  that  the  girl  had  no  bosom.  A  woman 
with  no  bosom  is  like  a  bed  without  a  pillow.  But 
d!Anquetil,  don't  you  know  what  we  might  do 
.now?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "play  at  ombre,  which  requires 
three  people." 

"If  you  want  to,"  she  continued.  "But  I  pray 
you,  my  friend,  call  for  pipes.  Nothing  is  pleas- 
anter  than  to  smoke  a  pipe  of  tobacco  while  drink- 
ing wine." 

A  lackey  brought  some  cards,  and  the  pipes, 
which  we  lighted.  The  room  was  soon  filled  with 
a  thick  smoke  amidst  which  our  host  and  Monsieur 
L'Abbe  Coignard  played  solemnly  at  piquet. 

Luck  favoured  my  good  master  till  the  moment 
when  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  thought  he  saw  him  for 
the  third  time  marking  fifty-five  when  he  had  but 
forty,  and  called  him  a  Greek,  a  card-sharper  and  a 
knight  of  the  road,  and  threw  a  bottle  at  his  head, 
which  broke  on  the  table  and  deluged  it  with  wine. 

"You  will  have  to  give  yourself  the  trouble  of 
opening  another  bottle,"  said  the  Abbe,  "for  we  are 
very  thirsty." 

"Willingly,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "but 
you  must  know,  my  Abbe,  that  a  gentleman  does 
not  mark  points  that  he  has  not  made,  and  does  not 
force  cards  except  at  the  king's  table,  where  all 
sorts  of  people  are  met  to  whom  one  is  under  no 
obligation.  Everywhere  else  it  is  villainous.  Do 
you  want  to  be  taken  for  an  adventurer  then, 
Abbe?" 


I46  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"It  is  a  remarkable  thing,"  said  my  good  master, 
"that  at  cards  or  dice  people  blame  a  practice  rec- 
ommended in  the  arts  of  war,  in  politics,  and 
business,  where  one  prides  oneself  on  correcting  a 
turn  of  ill-fortune.  It  is  not  that  I  do  not  pride 
myself  on  my  honesty  at  cards.  I  am  exact  in  my 
dealings  thank  God,  and  you  were  dreaming,  Mon- 
sieur, just  now  when  you  thought  you  saw  me  mark 
points  that  I  had  not  scored — were  it  otherwise  I 
should  invoke  the  example  of  the  Bishop  of  Geneva 
of  blessed  memory,  who  made  no  scruples  about 
cheating  at  cards.  But  I  cannot  help  reflecting 
that  men  are  more  punctilious  at  cards  than  in  se- 
rious matters  and  that  they  bring  more  honesty  to 
bear  on  trictrac,  where  it  is  a  passable  hindrance 
and  leave  it  out  in  battles  or  in  treaties  of  peace 
where  it  would  be  troublesome.  ^Elian,*  Mon- 
sieur, has  written  a  book  in  Greek  on  the  subject  of 
stratagem,  showing  to  what  excess  ruse  may  be  car- 
ried by  great  leaders." 

"L'Abbe,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "I  have 
not  read  your  ^Elian,  and  shall  not  read  him  as 
long  as  I  live,  but  I  have  been  to  the  wars  as  every 
good  gentleman  has.  I  served  the  king  for  eigh- 
teen months.  It  is  the  noblest  of  callings.  I  will 
tell  you  exactly  wherein  it  consists. 

"It  is  a  secret  I  may  well  confide  to  you  since 
there  is  no  one  to  hear  me  but  you,  some  bottles, 
Monsieur,  whom  I  am  going  to  kill  presently,  and 
this  girl  here  who  is  taking  off  her  clothes." 

"Yes,"  Catherine  said,  "my  chemise  is  enough, 
I'm  so  hot." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "war, 

*  JElian.     Greek  writer  on  Military  Tactics,  3rd  century. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          147 

whatever  the  gazettes  may  say,  simply  consists  in 
stealing  chickens  and  pigs  from  the  peasants. 
When  soldiers  are  on  campaign  that  is  all  they  think 
about." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  my  good  master, 
"and  in  the  old  days  in  Gaul  they  used  to  call  the 
soldier's  doxy  Madame  Lightfinger.  But  I  would 
beg  of  you  not  to  kill  my  pupil,  Jacques  Tourne- 
broche." 

"L'Abbe,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "I'm 
obliged  in  honour  to  do  so." 

"Ouf !"  said  Catherine,  arranging  the  lace  of  her 
chemise  at  her  throat,  "now  I  feel  better." 

"Monsieur,"  continued  my  good  master,  "Jac- 
ques Tournebroche  is  of  great  help  to  me  in  a  trans- 
lation of  Zozimus  the  Panopolitan,  which  I  have 
undertaken.  I  should  be  infinitely  obliged  to  you 
if  you  would  not  fight  with  him  untifi  after  this  great 
work  is  achieved." 

"I  do  not  care  a  fig  for  your  Zozimus,"  replied 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "I  don't  care  a  fig.  You 
hear  me,  1'Abbe?  I  care  no  more  than  did  the 
king  for  his  first  mistress,"  and  he  began  to  sing: 

To  shape  the  youthful  squire  of  horse, 
Steady  in  stirrup  and  set  on  his  course, 
The  wits  of  woman  must  help  him  perforce — 
Laire,  Ian,  laire. 

"Who  is  this  Zozimus?" 

"Zozimus,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  Abbe,  "Zozi- 
mus of  Panopolis,  was  a  learned  Greek  who  flour- 
ished in  Alexandria  in  the  third  century  of  the 
Christian  era,  and  wrote  treatises  on  the  spagyric 
art" 


H8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"How  do  you  think  that  affects  me?"  replied 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "and  why  do  you  translate 
him?" 

Strike  the  iron  while  'tis  hot 
Quoth  she,  nor  let  her  be  forgot 
Whose  title  was  the  Sultan's  fair — 
Laire,  Ian,  laire. 

"Monsieur,"  said  my  good  master,  "I  grant  you 
that  there  is  no  real  use  in  doing  so,  and  that  it 
will  not  affect  the  course  of  the  world.  But  in  il- 
lustrating, with  notes  and  commentaries,  this  trea- 
tise, which  the  Greek  composed  for  his  sister  Theo- 
sebia.  .  .  ." 

Catherine  interrupted  my  good  master's  dis- 
course by  singing  in  a  shrill  voice : 

In  spite  of  jealousy  and  rebuke 
I'd  see  my  husband  made  a  duke, 
I'm  sick  of  the  sight  of  his  desk  and  chair — 
Laire,  Ian,  laire. 

"I  contribute,"  went  on  my  good  master,  "to  the 
treasures  of  knowledge  amassed  by  learned  men, 
and  I  add  my  stone  to  the  monument  of  true  his- 
tory which  is  rather  that  of  maxims  and  opinions 
than  of  wars  and  treaties;  for,  Monsieur,  the  nobil- 
ity of  man.  .  .  ." 

Catherine  resumed: 

I  can  hear  the  public  murmuring 
I  know  the  sort  of  ballad  they'll  sing, 
The  vulgar  herd — but  it's  my  affair — 
Laire,  Ian,  laire. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          149 

Notwithstanding  her  my  good  master  continued 
.  .  .  "lies  in  his  thought,  and  having  regard  to 
that  it  is  not  a  matter  of  indifference  to  ascertain 
what  idea  of  the  nature  of  metals  and  of  the  quali- 
ties of  matter  this  Egyptian  had  formed." 

Monsieur  1'Abbe  Jerome  Coignard  drank  a  great 
draught  of  wine  while  Catherine  took  up  her  song: 

Pleasant  to  win  the  style  of  lord 
Whether  or  no  by  naked  sword, 
If  the  end  be  fair,  the  means  are  fair — 
Laire,  Ian,  laire. 

"L'Abbe,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "you  drink 
nothing — what  is  more  you  talk  wild  nonsense. 
In  Italy  during  the  war  of  succession  I  was  under 
the  orders  of  a  brigadier  who  translated  Polybius. 
But  he  was  an  idiot.  Why  translate  Zozimus?" 

"If  you  want  to  know  all,"  said  my  good  master, 
"I  find  therein  a  certain  sensuality." 

"Well  and  good,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
"but  how  can  Monsieur  Tournebroche  help  you, 
who  at  this  moment  is  caressing  my  mistress?" 

"By  the  knowledge  of  Greek,"  said  my  good 
master,  "which  I  have  imparted  to  him." 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  then  turned  to  me  and  said, 
"What  .Monsieur,  you  know  Greek!  Then  you 
are  not  a  gentleman?" 

"Monsieur,"  I  replied,  "my  father  is  the  banner 
bearer  to  the  Confraternity  of  Parisian  Cooks." 

"That  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  kill  you, 
Monsieur.  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me.  But,  1'Abbe, 
you  are  drinking  nothing.  You  have  deceived  me. 
I  thought  you  were  a  good  toper,  and  I  wished  you 


150  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

to  be  my  chaplain  when  I  should  have  a  house  of 
my  own." 

Nevertheless  Monsieur  Coignard  was  drinking 
out  of  the  bottle  and  Catherine  leant  towards  me 
and  whispered  in  my  ear:  "Jacques — I  feel  that 
I  shall  never  love  any  one  but  you." 

These  words,  coming  from  a  pretty  person  in  her 
chemise,  troubled  me  extremely,  but  Catherine  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  my  intoxication  by  making 
me  drink  out  of  her  glass,  which  passed  unnoticed 
in  the  confusion  of  a  supper  which  had  mounted  to 
all  our  heads. 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  breaking  the  neck  of  the 
bottle  against  the  table,  filled  us  fresh  bumpers,  and 
from  that  moment  on  I  could  not  give  an  account 
of  what  was  said  and  done  around  me.  All  the 
same  I  saw  that  Catherine  had  traitorously  poured 
a  glass  of  wine  down  her  lover's  back  between  the 
neck  and  the  coat  collar.  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  re- 
plied by  pouring  two  or  three  bottles  over  the 
young  lady  in  the  chemise,  whom  he  thus  turned 
into  a  sort  of  mythological  figure,  of  the  damp 
family  of  Nymphs  and  Naiads.  She  cried  with 
rage  and  twisted  herself  about  convulsively.  At 
the  same  moment  we  heard  heavy  raps  from  tb-e 
door-knocker  in  the  silence  of  the  night  whereupoi, 
we  all  became  suddenly  still  and  dumb  like  en- 
chanted guests.  The  knocks  soon  redoubled  in 
strength  and  frequency,  and  Monsieur  d'Anquetil 
broke  the  silence  first  by  asking  out  loud  with  dread- 
ful oaths,  who  this  troublesome  person  might  be. 
My  good  master,  who  in  the  most  ordinary  occur- 
rences was  often  inspired  with  admirable  maxims, 
rose  up,  and  said  with  unction  and  solemnity, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          151 

"What  matters  whose  the  hand  that  knocks  so 
roughly  against  the  closed  door  for  a  vulgar  and 
possibly  ridiculous  motive;  let  us  not  ask,  and  let 
us  take  these  blows  as  struck  at  the  door  of  our 
hardened  and  corrupted  souls.  Let  us  say  at  each 
astounding  blow:  that  is  to  warn  us  to  amend  our 
ways  and  think  of  our  salvation  which  we  neglect 
in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure;  that  is  to  make  us  dis- 
dain the  good  things  of  this  world;  that  is  to  make 
us  think  on  eternity.  Thus,  we  shall  obtain  all 
possible  profit  from  an  occurrence  otherwise  slight 
and  of  but  small  account." 

"You  are  amusing,  1'Abbe,"  said  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil,  "with  the  vigour  with  which  they  knock 
they  will  burst  in  the  door,"  and  indeed  the  knocker 
rattled  like  thunder. 

"They  are  brigands,"  cried  the  wine-sopped 
Catherine.  "Jesus!  we  shall  be  massacred!  it  is 
our  punishment  for  having  turned  out  the  little 
brother.  I  have  told  you  a  hundred  times,  d'An- 
quetil, ill-luck  comes  to  the  house  whence  they  drive 
a  monk." 

"Stupid,"  replied  d'Anquetil,  "this  cursed  friar 
makes  her  believe  all  the  silliness  he  wishes. 
Thieves  would  be  more  polite,  or  at  least  more  dis- 
creet. It  is  more  likely  the  watch." 

"The  watch!  But  that  is  worse  still,"  said 
Catherine. 

"Bah!"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "we  will  thrash 
them." 

My  good  master  put  a  bottle  in  one  pocket  just 
for  precaution  and  another  bottle  in  the  other 
pocket  for  equilibrium,  as  the  story  says.  All  the 
house  shook  under  the  furious  blows  of  the  knocker. 


i52  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  whose  soldierly  qualities 
were  awakened  by  this  attack,  cried  out,  "I  will  go 
and  reconnoitre  the  enemy." 

Stumbling  as  he  went  he  ran  to  the  window 
where  he  had  so  lately  and  so  liberally  boxed  his 
mistress's  ears,  and  then  came  back  into  the  din- 
ing-room bursting  with  laughter. 

"Ha!  ha!"  he  cried,  "do  you  know  who  is  knock- 
ing? It  is  Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude  in  a  claw- 
hammer wig,  with  two  big  lackeys  bearing  lighted 
torches." 

"Impossible!"  said  Catherine,  "by  this  time  he 
is  sleeping  by  the  side  of  his  elderly  wife." 

"Then  it  is  his  very  ghost,"  said  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil, "and  we  must  believe  that  the  ghost  has 
taken  the  Revenue  officer's  wig.  Even  a  spectre 
could  not  imitate  it  so  well,  for  it  is  so  absolutely 
comic!" 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?  Are  you  not  joking?" 
said  Catherine;  "is  it  really  Monsieur  de  la  Gueri- 
taude?" 

"It  is  he  himself,  Catherine,  if  I  am  to  believe 
my  eyes." 

"Then  I  am  lost,"  exclaimed  the  poor  girl. 
"How  unlucky  women  are.  They  never  can  leave 
us  in  peace.  What  will  become  of  me?  Mes- 
sieurs, will  you  not  hide  yourselves  in  different  cup- 
boards?" 

"That  might  be  done,"  said  Abbe  Coignard, 
"but  how  are  we  to  take  with  us  these  empty  bottles 
— for  the  most  part  broken,  or  at  any  rate  with 
their  necks  knocked  off,  the  debris  of  the  demi- 
john, which  Monsieur  flung  at  my  head,  the  cloth, 
the  pasty,  the  plates,  the  candelabra,  and  the 
chemise  of  Mademoiselle  here,  which,  owing  to  the 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          153 

wine  with  which  it  is  soaked  has  become  but  a  pink 
and  transparent  veil  for  her  beauty?" 

"It  is  true  that  idiot  has  wet  my  chemise,"  said 
Catherine,  "and  I  shall  catch  cold.  But  it  would 
perhaps  suffice  were  we  to  hide  Monsieur  d'Anquetil 
in  the  upper  room.  I  will  pass  off  the  Abbe  as  my 
uncle  and  Monsieur  Jacques  as  my  brother." 

"Not  so,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "I  will  beg 
Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude  myself  to  sup  with  us." 

We  implored  him — my  good  master,  Catherine, 
and  myself — to  do  nothing  of  the  kind;  we  be- 
sought him,  we  hung  on  his  neck.  All  in  vain. 
He  seized  a  light  and  went  down  the  steps.  We 
followed  him  trembling.  He  opened  the  door. 
Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude  stood  there  as  he  had 
described  him  to  us  in  his  wig,  between  two  lackeys 
armed  with  torches.  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  bowed 
ceremoniously  to  him  and  said: 

"Do  us  the  favour  to  come  inside,  Monsieur. 
You  will  meet  some  charming  and  uncommon  peo- 
ple. A  turnspit  to  whom  Mademoiselle  Catherine 
blows  kisses  from  her  window,  and  an  Abbe  who  be- 
lieves in  God." 

And  he  bowed  low. 

Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude  was  a  tall  withered 
man,  little  inclined  to  that  kind  of  pleasantry, 
which  irritated  him  exceedingly,  and  his  anger  was 
visibly  increased  by  the  sight  of  my  good  master, 
unbuttoned,  a  bottle  in  his  hand  and  two  others 
in  his  pockets,  and  by  the  appearance  of  Catherine 
in  her  damp  and  clinging  chemise. 

"Young  man,"  said  he  to  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
coldly  angry,  "I  have  the  honour  to  know  your 
esteemed  father,  with  whom  I  shall  to-morrow  con- 
sider to  what  town  the  king  should  send  you  to 


154  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

meditate  on  your  disgraceful  behaviour  and  your 
impertinence. 

"The  worthy  gentleman,  to  whom  I  have  lent 
money  which  I  do  not  press  for,  can  refuse  me 
nothing.  And  our  well-beloved  prince,  who  is  in 
exactly  the  same  position  as  your  father,  is  in- 
clined to  do  me  favour.  So  that  is  settled.  I  have 
put  through  more  difficult  things  in  my  time,  thank 
God !  As  to  this  young  woman,  since  it  is  hopeless 
to  expect  better  ways  of  her,  before  mid-day  to-mor- 
row I  shall  speak  two  words  to  Monsieur  the  head 
of  the  police,  who,  I  know,  is  full  willing  to  send  her 
to  the  reformatory.  I  have  no  more  to  say  to  you. 
This  house  is  mine.  I  have  paid  for  it,  and  I 
mean  to  enter  it." 

Then  turning  towards  his  lackeys,  and  designat- 
ing my  good  master  and  me  with  the  point  of  his 
stick,  he  said:  "Throw  those  two  drunkards  out." 

Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  was  commonly  of  ex- 
emplary sweetness,  and  he  was  in  the  habit  of  say- 
ing that  he  owed  this  gentleness  to  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  life,  fortune  having  treated  him  like  the  peb- 
bles that  the  sea  polishes  by  rolling  them  in  its  ebb 
and  flow.  He  bore  insults  calmly,  as  much  through 
a  Christian  spirit  as  through  philosophy.  But 
what  helped  him  most  was  his  great  contempt  for 
mankind,  from  which  he  did  not  except  himself. 
Nevertheless,  this  time  he  was  angry  out  of  all  pro- 
portion, and  entirely  forgot  his  prudence. 

"Hold  your  tongue!  vile  money-grubber!"  he 
cried,  waving  his  bottle  like  a  club.  "If  these 
rogues  dare  come  near  me,  I  will  break  their  heads, 
to  teach  them  to  respect  my  cloth,  which  bears  suffi- 
cient witness  to  my  sacred  character."  In  the 
torch-light,  shining  with  perspiration,  rubicund,  his 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  155 

eyes  starting  from  his  head,  his  coat  open,  and  his 
great  paunch  half  out  of  his  breeches,  my  good  mas- 
ter seemed  the  sort  of  fellow  who  would  not  easily 
be  driven  into  a  corner.  The  rogues  hesitated. 

"Drag  him  out!"  cried  Monsieur  de  la  Gueri- 
taude  to  them.  "Drag  out  this  wine-skin!  Do 
you  not  see  you  only  have  to  push  him  into  the 
gutter,  and  he'll  stay  there  until  the  sweepers  come 
to  throw  him  on  the  dust-heap?  I  would  drag  him 
out  myself  were  I  not  afraid  to  soil  my  clothes." 

My  good  master  fiercely  resented  these  insults. 

"Odious  tax-gatherer!"  said  he,  in  a  voice  fit  to 
echo  in  a  church,  "infamous  hanger-on;  savage 
sweater  of  the  people!  You  pretend  that  this 
house  is  yours?  If  you  want  people  to  believe  you, 
if  you  want  them  to  know  it  is  yours,  write  up 
over  the  door  this  word  from  the  Gospel:  Acel- 
dama, which  means,  the  price  of  blood.  Then, 
bowing  low,  we  will  allow  the  master  to  enter  his 
dwelling.  Thief,  bandit,  homicide,  write  with  the 
charcoal  I  will  throw  in  your  face,  write  with  your 
dirty  hand  over  the  door  your  owner's  title.  The 
price  of  the  blood  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan,  the 
price  of  the  blood  of  the  just,  Aceldama.  If  not, 
stay  outside  and  leave  us  within,  usurer." 

Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude,  who  had  never  heard 
anything  like  this  in  his  life,  thought  he  had  to 
do  with  a  madman,  as  he  might  well  believe,  and 
rather  to  protect  himself  than  to  make  an  attack, 
he  raised  his  big  stick. 

My  good  master,  beside  himself,  flung  his  bottle 
at  the  Revenue  officer's  head,  who  fell  full  length 
on  the  pavement,  crying  out  "He  has  killed  me!" 
And  as  he  was  swimming  in  the  wine  out  of  the 
bottle  it  looked  as  if  he  had  been  assassinated. 


1 56  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

His  two  lackeys  wanted  to  fling  themselves  on  the 
murderer,  and  one  of  the  two,  a  stout  fellow, 
thought  he  had  him,  when  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coig- 
nard  gave  him  such  a  blow  in  the  stomach  with  his 
head  that  the  fool  rolled  in  the  gutter  beside  the 
financier. 

He  got  up  for  his  sins,  and  arming  himself  with 
a  lighted  torch  threw  it  down  the  passage  whence 
his  enemy  had  fallen  on  him.  My  good  master 
was  no  longer  there,  he  had  already  fled  the 
spot. 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  was  there  still  with  Cather- 
ine, and  he  it  was  who  received  the  lighted  torch  in 
his  face.  This  insult  seemed  unbearable  to  him: 
he  drew  his  sword  and  plunged  it  into  the  body  of 
the  unlucky  rogue,  who  thus  learnt  to  his  cost  that 
it  does  not  do  to  attack  a  gentleman. 

Nevertheless  my  good  master  had  not  made 
twenty  paces  down  the  road  before  the  second 
lackey,  a  long  spidery-legged  beggar,  commenced 
running  after  him,  calling  to  the  watch,  and  crying 
"Stop  him." 

He  gained  on  him,  and  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
Saint  Guillaume  we  saw  him  stretch  his  arm  out 
and  seize  him  by  the  collar. 

But  my  good  master,  who  knew  more  than  a 
trick  or  two,  doubled  sharply,  and  passing  by  his 
man  tripped  him  up  against  a  milestone  where  he 
cracked  his  head.  This  occurred  whilst  we  were 
running,  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  and  I,  to  the  assistance 
of  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard,  whom  it  was  not 
seemly  to  desert  in  this  pressing  danger. 

"L'Abbe,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "give  me 
your  hand,  you  are  a  brave  man." 

"In  truth  I  think  I  was  more  or  less  murderous," 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  157 

said  my  good  master.  "But  I  am  not  unnatural 
enough  to  glory  in  it.  It  suffices  me  if  I  do  not  in- 
cur too  much  blame.  These  violent  ways  are 
scarcely  mine,  and  such  as  you  see  me,  Monsieur,  I 
am  better  fitted  to  teach  the  liberal  arts  from  a  col- 
lege chair  than  to  fight  with  lackeys  on  the  road- 
side." 

"Oh!"  continued  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "that  is 
not  the  worst  part  of  the  business.  But  I  think  you 
have  nearly  killed  a  Farmer-general." 

"Is  that  really  so?"  asked  Monsieur  1'Abbe. 

"As  true  as  I  stuck  my  sword  through  the  tripes 
of  some  of  this  dirty  crew." 

"At  this  juncture,"  said  the  Abbe,  "it  is  first 
necessary  to  ask  forgiveness  of  God,  towards 
Whom  alone  we  are  answerable  for  spilt  blood ;  sec- 
ondly, to  hasten  our  steps  to  the  nearest  fountain, 
so  as  to  wash  ourselves.  For  I  think  I  am  bleed- 
ing from  the  nose." 

"You  are  right,  TAbbe,"  said  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil, "for  the  fool  who  lies  cut  open  in  the  gutter 
has  broken  my  head.  What  impertinence!" 

"Forgive  him,"  said  the  Abbe,  "so  that  you  may 
be  forgiven  for  what  you  have  done  unto  him." 

We  found  at  the  right  moment  in  the  wall  of  a 
hospital  where  the  Rue  du  Bac  loses  itself  in  the 
fields,  a  little  bronze  Triton  throwing  a  spray  of 
water  into  a  stone  basin.  We  stopped  to  wash  our- 
selves and  drink,  for  our  throats  were  dry. 

"What  have  we  done?"  said  my  good  master, 
"and  how  comes  it  I  have  been  so  unlike  my  real 
pacific  self?  It  is  indeed  true  one  must  not  judge 
men  from  their  actions,  which  depend  on  circum- 
stances, but  rather  as  God  our  Father  does,  by 
their  secret  thoughts  and  inward  intentions." 


158  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"And  Catherine,"  I  asked — "what  has  become  of 
her  in  this  terrible  adventure?" 

"I  left  her,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "blow- 
ing into  her  financier's  mouth  to  put  life  into  him. 
But  she  might  spare  her  pains.  I  know  la  Gueri- 
taude.  He  is  pitiless.  He  will  send  her  to  the  re- 
formatory and  perchance  to  America.  I  am  sorry 
for  her.  She  was  a  pretty  girl.  I  did  not  love 
her.  But  she  was  mad  about  me.  And  extraordi- 
nary to  relate,  here  I  am  without  a  mistress." 

"Do  not  be  troubled,"  said  my  good  master,  "you 
will  find  another  no  different  from  that  one,  or  at 
least  not  essentially  different.  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  what  you  look  for  in  a  woman  is  common  to 
all." 

"It  is  quite  clear  that  we  are  in  danger,"  said 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "I — of  being  put  in  the  Bas- 
tille, and  you,  1'Abbe,  of  being  hung  with  your 
pupil,  Tournebroche,  who  nevertheless  has  killed  no 
one." 

"It  is  only  too  true,"  replied  my  good  master, 
"we  must  think  of  our  safety.  It  may  be  necessary 
to  quit  Paris  where  they  will  not  fail  to  look  for  us, 
and  even  to  fly  to  Holland.  Alas !  I  foresee  that 
I  shall  write  scurrilous  papers  for  women  of  the 
theatre,  with  this  very  hand  which  illustrated  with 
such  ample  notes  the  alchemistic  treatise  of  Zozi- 
mus  the  Panopolitan." 

"Listen  to  me,  1'Abbe,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anque- 
til, "I  have  a  friend  who  will  hide  us  on  his  estate 
as  long  as  may  be  necessary.  He  lives  four  leagues 
from  Lyons,  in  a  wild  and  horrid  part  of  the  coun- 
try where  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  but  poplars, 
grass  and  woods.  That's  where  we  must  go,  and 
wait  till  the  storm  has  past  over.  We  will  turn 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  159 

our  attention  to  the  chase.  But  we  must  find  a 
post-chaise  as  quickly  as  possible  or,  better  still,  a 
berline." 

"I  know  the  very  thing,  Monsieur,"  said  the 
Abbe.  "The  Hotel  du  Cheval  Rouge,  at  the  cross 
roads  of  Bergeres  will  supply  you  with  good  horses 
and  every  kind  of  carriage.  I  knew  the  landlord 
in  the  days  when  I  was  secretary  to  Madame  de  St. 
Ernest.  He  was  willing  to  oblige  people  of  qual- 
ity; I  believe  he  is  dead  since,  but  he  ought  to  have 
a  son  who  takes  after  him.  Have  you  any 
money?" 

"I  have  a  fairly  large  sum  on  me,"  said  Mon- 
sieur d'Anquetil,  "and  very  glad  I  am  of  it,  for  I 
cannot  think  of  going  back  to  my  house,  where  the 
police  will  not  fail  to  search  for  me  to  take  me  to 
the  Chatelet.*  I  have  forgotten  my  men  left  in 
Catherine's  house — God  knows  what  has  become 
of  them;  but  I  care  little.  I  beat  them  and  I  never 
paid  them,  and  yet  I  am  not  sure  of  their  fidelity; 
on  whom  can  one  rely?  Let  us  go  to  the  cross 
roads  of  Bergeres  at  once." 

"Monsieur"  said  the  Abbe,  "I  am  going  to  make 
you  a  proposition,  hoping  that  it  may  prove  agree- 
able to  you.  Tournebroche  and  I  are  living  in  an 
alchemist's  workshop,  in  a  tumble-down  old  chateau 
at  the  Cross  of  Les  Sablons,  where  you  can  easily 
spend  twelve  hours  without  being  seen.  We  will 
take  you  with  us  there,  and  we  will  wait  until  our 
carriage  be  ready.  There  is  much  advantage  that 
Les  Sablons  is  not  far  from  the  cross  roads  of  Ber- 
geres." 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  did  not  gainsay  these  ar- 
rangements, and  we  decided — standing  before  the 

*  Chatelet.    Fortress  in  old  Paris.     Seat  of  criminal  jurisdiction. 


i6o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

little  Triton  blowing  water  from  his  full  cheeks — 
to  go  first  to  the  Cross  of  Les  Sablons  and  then  to 
take  a  berline  at  the  Hotel  du  Cheval  Rouge  to 
drive  us  to  Lyons. 

"I  will  confide  to  you,  Monsieur,"  said  my  good 
master,  "that  of  the  three  bottles  I  took  care  to 
carry  off  with  me  one  was  unluckily  broken  on  the 
head  of  Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude,  the  second 
broke  in  my  pocket  during  my  flight.  They  are 
both  much  to  be  regretted.  The  third  was  pre- 
served intact  against  all  hope — and  here  it  is  1" 

And  drawing  it  from  under  his  coat  he  placed  it 
on  the  edge  of  the  fountain. 

"That  is  one  good  thing,"  said  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil,  "you  have  wine,  I  have  dice  and  cards  in 
my  pocket.  We  can  play." 

"It  is  indeed  excellent  entertainment,"  said  my 
good  master.  "A/  game  of  cards,  Monsieur,  is  a 
book  of  adventures  of  the  kind  we  call  romance,  and 
it  has  this  superiority  over  other  books  of  its  kind 
that  one  composes  it  even  while  one  reads  it,  and 
one  need  not  have  wit  to  compose  it,  nor  know  one's 
letters  to  read  it.  And  it  is  furthermore  a  marvel- 
lous work,  in  that  it  makes  sense  and  has  a  new 
meaning  each  time  that  one  turns  over  the  leaves. 
It  is  of  such  cunning  design  one  cannot  admire  it 
sufficiently,  for  from  mathematical  laws  it  draws 
thousands  and  thousands  of  curious  combinations 
and  so  many  singular  juxtapositions  that  people 
have  been  led  to  think,  contrary  to  truth,  that  they 
could  discover  therein  secrets  of  the  heart,  the  mys- 
tery of  fate,  and  the  hidden  things  of  the  future. 
What  I  say  is  particularly  applicable  to  the  tarot  of 
the  Bohemians,  which  is  the  best  of  card  games,  but 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  161 

also  may  apply  to  the  game  of  piquet.  The  inven- 
tion of  cards  may  be  referred  to  the  ancients,  and 
for  my  part,  although  truth  to  tell,  I  know  no  text 
which  positively  supports  me  here,  I  believe  them 
to  be  of  Chaldean  origin.  But  in  its  present  form 
the  game  of  piquet  does  not  go  further  back  than 
the  time  of  Charles  VII,  and,  if  it  is  true,  as  is 
said  in  a  learned  dissertation  which  I  remember  to 
have  read  at  Seez,  that  the  Queen  of  Hearts  re- 
presents in  an  emblematical  manner  the  beautiful 
Agnes  Sorel,  and  that  the  Queen  of  Spades  is  no 
other  than  Jeanne  Dulys,  also  called  Jeanne  Dare, 
who  by  her  bravery  re-established  the  affairs  of  the 
monarchy,  and  was  then  boiled  at  Rouen  by  the 
English,  in  a  cauldron  they  show  one  for  two  Hards, 
and  which  I  have  seen  in  passing  through  that  town. 
Certain  historians  pretend  that  this  maiden  was 
burnt  alive  at  the  stake.  One  reads  in  Nicole 
Gilles  *  and  in  Pasquier,t  that  Saint  Catherine  and 
Saint  Marguerite  appeared  to  her.  But  certainly 
it  was  not  God  who  sent  them,  for  there  is  no  one, 
however  little  learned  or  pious,  but  knows  that 
Marguerite  and  Catherine  were  invented  by  the  By- 
zantine monks  whose  extravagant  and  barbarous 
imaginings  have  defiled  the  Martyrology.  There 
is  a  ridiculous  impiety  in  pretending  that  God  made 
saints,  who  never  existed,  appear  to  Jeanne  Dulys, 
but  the  old  chroniclers  were  not  afraid  of  giving 
us  to  understand  this.  Why  did  they  not  say  that 
God  sent  to  this  maiden  Yseulte  the  fair,  Melusina, 
Bertha  Big-Foot  and  all  the  heroines  of  the  ro- 

*  Gilles,  Nicole.     French  chronicler,  d.  1503. 
t  Pasquier,  Etienne.    Author  of   "Recherches  de  la  France,"  an 
inquiry  into  the  origins  of  French  history,  1529-1615. 


1 62  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

mances  of  chivalry  whose  existence  is  no  more  fabu- 
lous than  that  of  the  Virgin  Catherine  and  the 
Virgin  Marguerite? 

"Monsieur  de  Valois  in  the  last  century  rightly 
set  himself  against  these  gross  fables,  which  are  as 
much  opposed  to  religion  as  error  is  contrary  to 
truth.  It  is  to  be  wished  that  some  religious,  in- 
structed in  history,  should  make  the  distinction  be- 
tween the  real  saints,  whom  it  is  fitting  to  venerate, 
and  saints  such  as  Marguerite,  Luce  or  Lucie,  and 
Eustace  who  are  imaginary,  and  even  St.  George, 
of  whom  I  have  my  doubts. 

"If  ever  some  day  I  may  retire  to  a  fair  abbey 
provided  with  a  rich  library,  I  will  consecrate  to 
this  task  the  remainder  of  a  life  nearly  worn  out 
by  tempest  and  shipwreck.  I  long  for  port  and 
desire  to  taste  the  sweets  of  repose  befitting  my  age 
and  condition." 

While  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  was  making 
these  memorable  remarks,  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
without  hearing  him,  seated  on  the  edge  of  the 
basin — shuffled  the  cards  and  swore  like  a  fiend,  be- 
cause one  could  not  see  to  play  a  game  of  piquet. 

"You  are  right  Monsieur,"  said  my  good  mas- 
ter, "one  cannot  see  very  well,  and  I  feel  some 
annoyance,  less  by  thought  of  the  cards  which  I  can 
very  easily  do  without,  than  for  the  wish  I  have  to 
read  some  pages  of  the  Consolations  of  Boethius,  a 
copy  of  which  in  a  small  edition  I  always  carry  in 
my  coat-pocket,  that  I  may  have  it  under  my  hand 
and  open  it  directly  I  fall  into  misfortune,  as  hap- 
pens to  me  to-day.  For  it  is  a  cruel  mischance, 
Monsieur,  for  a  man  of  my  kind  to  be  a  homicide 
and  menaced  with  the  ecclesiastical  prisons.  I  feel 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  163 

that  one  single  page  of  this  admirable  book  would 
keep  up  my  heart,  which  sinks  at  the  very  notion 
of  the  police." 

Pronouncing  these  words  he  let  himself  sink  over 
the  inner  side  of  the  basin,  and  that  so  deeply,  that 
he  dipped  the  greater  part  of  his  person  in  the 
water — but  he  was  not  concerned,  and  seemed  not 
even  to  perceive  it,  and  drawing  from  his  pocket 
his  Boethius  which  was  really  there  and  donning  his 
spectacles  which  had  but  one  glass  left  and  that 
broken  in  three  places,  he  set  himself  to  look  in 
the  little  book  for  the  page  most  appropriate  to  his 
situation.  He  would  have  found  it  no  doubt,  and 
would  have  drawn  fresh  strength  from  it  if  the  ill- 
condition  of  his  spectacles,  the  tears  that  rose  to 
his  eyes  and  the  feeble  light  that  fell  from  the  sky 
had  allowed  the  search.  But  he  had  soon  to  con- 
fess that  he  saw  nothing  and  he  fell  out  with  the 
moon  who  showed  her  sharp  horn  from  the  edge  of 
a  cloud.  He  addressed  her  with  vivacity  and  over- 
whelmed her  with  invective. 

"Thou  obscene  Star,  mischievous  and  libidin- 
ous!" said  he.  "Thou  never  weariest  of  holding 
the  candle  to  the  wicked  ways  of  men,  and  thou 
grudgest  a  ray  of  light  to  him  who  seeks  a  virtuous 
maxim!" 

"Well,  well,  1'Abbe,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
"since  this  trollop  of  a  moon  gives  us  enough  light 
to  guide  us  through  the  street  and  not  enough  to 
play  piquet,  let  us  go  straight  to  the  chateau  you 
spoke  of  and  where  I  must  enter  without  being 
seen." 

The  advice  was  good,  and  having  drained  the 
bottle  by  the  neck  we  all  three  took  the  road  to  the 


164  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

Cross  of  Les  Sablons,  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  and  I 
walked  on  ahead,  my  good  master,  hindered  by  all 
the  water  his  breeches  had  absorbed,  followed  us 
weeping,  groaning,  and  dripping. 


XVII 

UR  eyes  were  smarting  in  the  early 
dawn  when  we  reached  the  green 
door  opening  into  the  park  of  Les 
Sablons.  We  were  under  no  neces^ 
sity  of  knocking.  For  some  time 
past  the  master  of  the  house  had 
given  us  the  keys  of  his  domain. 
We  had  planned  that  my  good  master  should  go 
forward  cautiously  with  d'Anquetil  in  the  shadow 
of  the  alley,  and  that  I  should  remain  behind  a  little 
to  look  out  if  necessary  for  the  faithful  Criton,  and 
for  any  of  the  kitchen  varlets  who  might  catch 
sight  of  the  intruder.  This  arrangement,  which 
was  only  reasonable,  was  to  cost  me  much  anxiety. 
For  at  the  moment  when  my  two  companions  had 
already  climbed  the  stairs,  and  gained  without  being 
seen  my  own  room,  where  we  had  decided  to  hide 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil  till  the  time  for  our  flight  in 
the  post-chaise,  I  had  scarcely  reached  the  second 
floor,  and  there  I  came  upon  Monsieur  d'Astarac 
himself,  clad  in  a  robe  of  red  damask,  and  bearing 
a  silver  torch.  He  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder 
as  his  habit  was,  and  said  to  me : 

"Well,  my  son,  are  you  not  well  content  to  have 
broken  off  all  dealings  with  women,  and  so  escaped 
all  the  dangers  of  bad  company?  You  have  no  need 
to  fear  from  these  daughters  of  the  air  those  quar- 
rels and  fights  and  violent  and  harmful  scenes  which 
commonly  break  out  among  creatures  who  lead  an 
evil  life.  In  your  solitude,  which  the  fairies  make 
165 


1 66  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

charming  to  you,  you  enjoy  a  delicious  tranquillity." 

At  first  I  thought  he  spoke  mockingly.  But  I 
soon  recognised  that  he  had  no  such  intention. 

"Our  meeting  is  very  opportune,  my  son,  and  I 
should  be  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  would  come 
to  my  workshop  for  a  few  moments." 

I  followed  him.  With  a  key  at  least  an  ell  in 
length,  he  opened  the  door  of  that  cursed  room 
whence  I  had  formerly  seen  the  infernal  flames  dart 
forth.  And  when  we  had  both  entered  the  labor- 
atory he  asked  me  to  make  up  the  fire,  which  was 
dying  out.  I  threw  some  logs  of  wood  in  the  fur- 
nace, where  something  was  cooking  which  gave 
forth  a  suffocating  smell.  While  he  shifted  cruci- 
bles and  retorts  and  compounded  his  unholy  messes, 
I  sat  back  on  the  bench  where  I  had  sunk  down,  and 
in  spite  of  myself  closed  my  eyes.  He  forced  me 
to  open  them  again  to  admire  a  vessel  of  green  pot- 
tery capped  with  a  glass  top,  which  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"My  son,"  said  he,  "you  must  know  that  this 
sublimatory  apparatus  is  called  an  aludel.  It  holds 
a  liquid  which  you  must  carefully  observe,  for  I  am 
about  to  reveal  to  you  that  this  liquid  is  no  other 
than  the  mercury  of  the  philosophers.  Do  not 
think  it  is  always  of  so  dark  a  hue.  Before  long  it 
will  become  white,  and  in  that  state  it  transforms 
metals  into  silver.  Then,  owing  to  my  skill  and 
cunning,  it  will  turn  red,  and  acquire  the  virtue  of 
transmuting  silver  into  gold.  It  would  be  greatly 
to  your  profit,  doubtless,  if,  shut  up  in  this  labor- 
atory, you  did  not  leave  it  before  these  sublime  op- 
erations were  little  by  little  accomplished,  which 
cannot  take  more  than  two  or  three  months.  But 
perchance,  that  would  be  putting  too  great  a  strain 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  167 

on  your  youth,  so  content  yourself  this  time  in 
watching  the  preliminaries  of  the  work,  heaping 
plenty  of  wood  in  the  furnace  meanwhile,  if  you 
please." 

Having  spoken  thus,  he  disappeared  once  more 
among  his  bottles  and  retorts.  Meanwhile  I  medi- 
tated on  the  unlucky  position  my  ill-luck  and  im- 
prudence had  brought  me  to. 

Alas !  I  said  to  myself,  throwing  logs  on  the  fire, 
at  this  very  moment  the  police  are  seeking  us,  my 
good  master  and  me,  and  we  shall  have  perhaps  to 
go  to  prison — we  certainly  shall  have  to  leave  this 
chateau  where  I  had,  though  lacking  money,  board 
and  a  certain  position.  I  shall  never  dare  to  ap- 
pear again  before  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  who  believes 
that  I  spent  the  night  in  the  noiseless  delights  of 
magic,  and  it  were  indeed  better  I  had  done  so. 
Alas!  never  again  shall  I  see  Mosaide's  niece,  she 
who  in  my  little  room  so  agreeably  interrupted  my 
slumbers.  And  no  doubt  she  will  forget  me.  Per- 
haps she  will  love  another  on  whom  she  will  bestow 
the  same  caresses  as  on  me.  The  very  thought  of 
such  infidelity,  is  intolerable  to  me.  But  seeing 
how  the  world  wags,  one  must  expect  anything  and 
everything. 

"My  son,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "you  do 
not  feed  the  athanor  sufficiently.  I  perceive  that 
you  are  not  imbued  enough  with  the  true  love  of 
iire,  whose  qualities  are  capable  of  ripening  this 
mercury  and  thus  forming  the  marvellous  fruit  I 
shall  soon  be  allowed  to  pluck.  More  wood! 
Fire,  my  son,  is  the  superior  element;  I  have  often 
told  you  so,  and  I  will  give  you  an  example.  On  a 
very  cold  day  last  winter  I  went  to  call  on  Mosaide 
in  his  cottage.  I  found  him  seated  with  his  feet  on 


1 68  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

a  foot-warmer,  and  noticed  that  the  subtle  and  es- 
sential particles  of  the  fire  that  escaped  from  the 
stove  were  powerful  enough  to  swell  and  puff  out 
the  learned  man's  gathered  robe;  whence  I  con- 
cluded that  had  the  fire  been  fiercer  Mosai'de  would, 
without  any  doubt  about  it,  have  been  raised  up  into 
the  air,  as  he  is  verily  worthy  of  such  up-raising, 
and  that  were  it  possible  to  enclose  in  some  ves- 
sel a  large  enough  quantity  of  these  particles  of  fire 
we  might  thus  navigate  the  clouds  as  easily 
as  we  do  to-day  the  sea  and  visit  the  Salamanders 
in  their  ethereal  abode.  I  shall  think  over  that  in 
the  time  to  come  at  leisure.  And  I  do  not  despair 
of  being  able  to  build  one  of  those  fiery  vessels  my- 
self. But  let  us  return  to  our  work,  and  put  some 
wood  in  the  stove." 

He  kept  me  for  a  considerable  time  longer  in 
this  glowing  chamber,  whence  I  thought  to  escape 
as  quickly  as  I  could  to  rejoin  Jael,  to  whom  I 
was  anxious  to  impart  my  woes.  At  length  he  left 
the  workshop  and  I  thought  I  was  at  liberty.  But 
he  disappointed  my  hopes  once  again. 

"The  weather,"  said  he,  "is  quite  mild  to-day, 
although  somewhat  cloudy.  Would  it  not  be  pleas- 
ant to  take  a  walk  in  the  park  with  me  before  con- 
tinuing your  work  on  Zozimus  the  Panopolitan, 
which  will  do  much  honour  to  you  and  your  good 
master  if  you  finish  as  well  as  you  have  begun." 

Regretfully  I  followed  him  to  the  park,  when  he 
addressed  me  as  follows : 

"I  am  not  sorry,  my  son,  to  find  myself  alone 
with  you  to  warn  you,  while  there  is  yet  time, 
against  a  great  danger  which  may  one  day  threaten 
you,  and  I  reproach  myself  for  not  having  thought 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  169 

of  warning  you  sooner,  for  what  I  have  to  tell  you 
is  of  extreme  importance." 

Speaking  thus  he  led  me  to  the  main  alley  which 
descends  to  the  marshes  of  the  Seine,  whence  one 
sees  Rueil  and  Mount  Valerian  with  its  Calvary. 
It  was  his  daily  walk.  The  path  was  practicable, 
notwithstanding  several  tree  trunks  lying  across  it. 

"It  is  necessary  to  make  you  understand,"  he 
pursued,  "to  what  you  may  be  exposed  in  betraying 
your  Salamander.  I  shall  not  question  you  on  your 
dealings  with  this  supernatural  person  whom  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  introduce  to  you.  As  far  as  I 
can  judge  you  seem  yourself  to  feel  a  certain  re- 
pugnance in  discussing  her.  And  perhaps  it  is 
praiseworthy  on  your  part.  If  Salamanders  have 
not  the  same  ideas  as  have  women  of  the  court  and 
of  the  town  on  the  discretion  of  their  lovers,  it  is 
none  the  less  true  that  it  is  of  the  essence  of  the 
beauty  of  love  to  be  inexpressible — and  that  to 
spread  abroad  a  deep-seated  feeling  is  to  profane 
it. 

"But  your  Salamander  (whose  name  I  could 
easily  discover  were  I  indiscreetly  curious)  has  per- 
haps not  spoken  to  you  of  one  of  her  strongest 
passions — which  is  jealousy.  This  characteristic  is 
common  to  all  her  kind.  Bear  well  in  mind,  my 
son — Salamanders  do  not  allow  themselves  to  be 
betrayed  with  impunity.  They  wreak  a  terrible 
vengeance  on  the  perjured.  The  divine  Paracelsus 
relates  an  example  which  will  doubtless  suffice  to  in- 
spire you  with  a  wholesome  dread.  Therefore  I 
will  make  it  known  to  you.  In  a  town  in  Germany 
called  Staufen  there  was  a  spagyric  philosopher  who, 
like  you,  had  dealings  with  a  Salamander.  He  v/as 


1 70  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

depraved  enough  to  betray  her  ignominiously  with  a 
woman,  pretty  it  is  true,  but  not  impossibly  beauti- 
ful. One  evening  as  he  was  supping  with  his  new 
mistress  and  some  friends,  the  guests  saw  a  glisten- 
ing limb  of  marvellous  form  above  their  heads. 
The  Salamander  showed  it  in  order  that  they  might 
be  sensible  that  she  did  not  merit  the  wrong  done 
her  by  her  lover.  Whereafter  the  outraged  daugh- 
ter of  the  skies  struck  the  faithless  one  with  apo- 
plexy. The  vulgar,  which  is  born  to  be  deceived, 
thought  it  a  natural  death,  but  the  initiated  knew  by 
what  hand  the  blow  came.  My  son,  it  was  my  duty 
to  give  you  this  advice  and  this  example." 

They  were  less  useful  to  me  than  Monsieur 
d'Astarac  thought.  While  listening  to  them  I  cher- 
ished other  matter  for  alarm.  My  face  doubtless 
betrayed  my  anxiety,  for  the  great  cabalist  having 
turned  his  gaze  on  me  asked  me  whether  I  did  not 
fear  that  a  pledge  undertaken  under  such  severe 
penalties  would  prove  trying  to  my  youth. 

"I  can  reassure  you  on  that  point,"  he  added. 
"The  Salamander's  jealousy  is  only  roused  if  one 
puts  them  on  a  rival  footing  with  women,  and  truth 
to  tell  it  is  more  resentment,  indignation  and  disgust 
than  real  jealousy.  Salamanders  have  too  fine  a 
soul  and  too  subtle  an  intelligence  to  be  envious  one 
of  another  and  to  suffer  a  feeling  which  harks  back 
to  the  barbarity  in  which  mankind  is  still  half  im- 
mersed. On  the  contrary,  they  make  a  pleasure  of 
sharing  with  their  companions  the  delights  they  en- 
joy in  the  company  of  a  sage,  and  amuse  themselves 
by  bringing  the  prettiest  of  their  sisters  to  their 
lovers.  You  will  soon  experience  that  they  actually 
push  amiability  to  the  point  I  have  described,  and 
not  a  year  nor  even  six  months  will  pass  before  your 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  171 

rooms  will  be  a  meeting-place  for  five  or  six  daugh- 
ters of  the  light  vying  with  one  another  who  shall 
loose  before  you  their  dazzling  girdles.  Do  not 
fear  to  respond  to  their  caresses,  my  son.  Your 
friend  will  take  no  umbrage,  and  how  should  she 
take  offence  since  she  is  so  wise?  In  your  turn, 
do  not  be  vexed  should  your  Salamander  leave  you 
for  a  time  to  visit  another  philosopher.  Look  up- 
on this  over-weening  jealousy  which  men  bring  to 
the  union  of  sexes  as  a  savage  feeling  founded  on 
the  most  absurd  illusion.  It  rests  on  the  idea  that 
a  woman  is  yours  when  she  has  given  herself  to 
you,  which  is  simply  a  play  upon  words." 

While  thus  holding  forth  to  me,  Monsieur 
d'Astarac  had  entered  on  the  mandragora  path  and 
we  already  perceived  Mosaide's  cottage  through  the 
foliage,  when  a  terrible  voice  rang  in  my  ears  and 
made  my  heart  beat  violently.  It  rolled  out  rau- 
cous sounds,  accompanied  by  gnashing  of  teeth, 
and  on  drawing  near  one  realised  that  the 
sounds  were  modulated  and  each  phrase  terminated 
in  a  sort  of  feeble  recitative,  which  one  could  not 
hear  without  shuddering. 

After  taking  a  few  steps  forward  we  could,  by 
straining  our  ears,  grasp  the  meaning  of  these 
strange  words.  The  voice  said : 

"Listen  to  the  malediction  of  Elisha  and  his 
curse  on  the  joyful  and  insolent  children.  Hark 
to  the  anathema  which  Barak  launched  at  Meroz. 

"I  condemn  thee  in  the  name  of  Archithariel,  al- 
so called  the  lord  of  battles  who  holds  the  shin- 
ing sword.  I  devote  thee  to  perdition  in  the  name 
of  Sardaliphon  who  presents  his  master  with  the 
acceptable  flowers  and  the  garlands  of  merit  offered 
by  the  children  of  Israel. 


172  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"Be  accursed  O  dog! — and  anathema,  O  swine!" 

On  looking  whence  the  voice  came  we  saw  Mo- 
sai'de  standing  at  his  doorway — his  arms  raised,  his 
hands  like  claws  with  their  curved  nails  which  the 
sunlight  appeared  to  redden.  Crowned  with  his 
dirty  headdress,  wrapped  in  his  gaudy  robe  which 
opening  allowed  his  thin,  bowed  legs  to  appear  in 
their  ragged  breeches,  he  looked  like  some  mendi- 
cant soothsayer,  eternal  and  aged. 

His  eyes  gleamed.     He  said: 

"Be  thou  accursed  in  the  name  of  the  Globes — Be 
thou  accursed  in  the  name  of  the  Wheels — Be  thou 
accursed  in  the  name  of  the  mysterious  Beasts 
which  Ezekiel  saw,"  and  he  stretched  out  his  long 
clawed-like  arms  before  him,  repeating: 

"In  the  name  of  the  Globes,  in  the  name  of  the 
Wheels,  in  the  name  of  the  mysterious  Beasts — 
Go  thou  down  among  those  who  are  no  more." 

We  went  a  few  steps  into  the  wood  to  see  the 
object  to  which  Mosaide  extended  his  arms,  and 
his  wrath,  and  my  surprise  was  great  at  discovering 
Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  hanging  on  a  thorn  tree 
by  his  coat.  The  night's  disorder  showed  all  over 
his  person,  his  cape  and  hands  all  torn,  his  stock- 
ings stained  with  mud,  his  shirt  half  open,  all  were 
pitiable  reminders  of  our  common  mis-adventures, 
and,  worst  of  all,  his  swollen  nose,  now  spoilt  that 
fine  and  smiling  expression  which  never  left  his 
face. 

I  rushed  towards  him  and  drew  him  so  success- 
fully out  of  the  thorn-bush  that  he  left  there  but  a 
fragment  of  his  breeches.  And  Mosaide  having 
nothing  left  to  curse  went  back  into  his  house.  As 
he  only  wore  slippers  I  was  enabled  to  see  that  his 
leg  was  in  the  middle  of  his  foot  so  to  speak,  so 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  173 

that  the  heel  was  nearly  half  as  far  out  behind  as 
the  instep  in  front.  This  formation  rendered  his 
walk  extremely  ungraceful,  which  would  otherwise 
have  been  rather  noble. 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,  my  son,"  said  my  good 
master  with  a  sigh,  "that  Jew  must  be  Isaac  Laque- 
dem  *  himself  to  swear  thus  in  all  languages.  He 
consigned  me  to  a  violent  and  early  death  with  an 
abundance  of  imagery,  and  he  called  me  a  pig  in 
fourteen  different  idioms,  if  I  counted  aright.  I 
should  take  him  to  be  Anti-Christ,  did  he  not  lack 
several  of  the  signs  by  which  that  enemy  of  the  Al- 
mighty is  to  be  recognised.  In  any  case  he  is  a 
wicked  Jew,  and  never  has  the  wheel  been  applied 
in  sign  of  infamy  on  the  garb  of  a  wilder  miscreant. 
As  for  him,  he  deserves  not  only  the  wheel  which 
they  formerly  fastened  to  the  Jews'  cloaks,  but  that 
wheel  to  which  they  fasten  evil-doers." 

And  my  good  master,  irritated  beyond  all  meas- 
ure, in  his  turn  shook  his  fist  at  Mosaide's  back,  ac- 
cusing him  of  crucifying  children  and  devouring  the 
flesh  of  new-born  infants. 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  came  up  to  him  and  touched 
him  on  the  chest  with  the  ruby  he  wore  on  his 
finger. 

"It  is  useful,"  said  the  great  cabalist,  "to  know 
the  property  of  precious  stones.  The  ruby  ap- 
peases resentment  and  you  will  soon  see  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  Coignard  return  to  his  usual  gentleness." 

My  good  master  was  already  smiling,  more  from 
the  effect  of  a  philosophy  which  raised  this  admir- 
able man  above  all  human  passions,  than  from  the 
virtue  of  the  stone.  For  I  must  own  even  at  the 
time  when  my  recital  darkens  and  becomes  sad- 

*  Laquedem,  Isaac.    The  wandering  Jew,  Dutch  name  for. 


I74  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

dened,  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  showed  me  an 
example  of  wisdom  in  circumstances  where  it  is 
rarest  of  all  to  meet  with  it. 

We  asked  him  the  reason  of  the  quarrel.  But  I 
•understood  by  the  vagueness  of  his  embarrassed  re- 
plies that  he  had  no  wish  to  satisfy  our  curiosity. 
I  had  suspected  from  the  first  that  Jael  was  mixed 
up  in  it  in  some  manner,  my  indication  being  that 
we  heard  mingled  with  the  grinding  voice  of  Mo- 
sai'de  the  grinding  of  locks  and  the  outburst  of  a 
quarrel  in  the  cottage  between  the  uncle  and  niece. 
Having  done  my  very  best  again  to  extract  some 
enlightenment  from  my  good  master,  he  said: 

"Hatred  of  Christians  is  deep-rooted  in  the  heart 
of  the  Jews,  and  this  Mosaide  is  an  odious  example 
of  it.  I  thought  I  could  discern  in  his  horrid 
mouthings,  some  portion  of  the  imprecation  vom- 
ited last  century  by  the  synagogue  on  a  little  Dutch 
Jew  called  Baruch  or  Benedict,  known  later  under 
the  name  of  Spinoza,  for  having  formulated  a  phil- 
osophy which  was  utterly  refuted  almost  at  its  birth 
by  able  theologians.  But  this  old  Mordecai  added 
to  them,  it  seemed  to  me,  many  imprecations  more 
horrible  still,  and  I  confess  that  they  touched  me  a 
little.  I  was  just  meditating  escape  by  flight  from 
this  torrent  of  abuse  when,  to  my  misfortune,  I  was 
caught  up  in  these  thorns,  and  so  well  seized  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  my  clothes  and  my  skin,  that  I 
thought  I  should  have  left  both  one  and  the  other 
there;  and  I  should  be  there  still  in  the  liveliest  pain 
had  not  Tournebroche,  my  pupil,  delivered  me." 

"Thorns  are  nothing,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 
"But  I  fear,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  that  you  may  have 
stepped  on  a  mandragora." 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  175 

"That  is  the  least  of  my  anxieties,"  said  the 
Abbe. 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac  with 
vivacity.  "It  is  enough  to  put  your  foot  on  a  man- 
dragora  to  be  tangled  in  some  criminal  love  and 
perish  miserably  therein." 

"Ah,  Monsieur!"  said  my  good  master,  "these 
are  perils  indeed,  and  I  see  that  it  is  necessary  to 
live  close  confined  within  the  eloquent  walls  of  the 
Astaracian,  that  queen  of  libraries.  I  quitted  it 
for  a  moment  and  received  at  my  head  the  Beasts 
of  Ezekiel,  without  counting  the  rest." 

"Have  you  nothing  to  tell  me  of  Zozimus  the 
Panopolitan?"  asked  Mojisieur  d'Astarac. 

"He  goes  on  his  way,"  replied  my  good  master, 
"he  goes  on  his  way,  although  a  little  languidly  for 
the  moment." 

"Bethink  yourself,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  said  the 
cabalist,  "that  the  possession  of  the  greatest  secrets 
is  bound  up  in  the  knowledge  of  these  ancient 
texts." 

"I  bethink  myself  of  it  with  the  greatest  solici- 
tude," said  the  Abbe. 

And  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  on  receiving  this  assur- 
ance, strode  off  under  the  trees  at  the  call  of  the 
Salamanders,  leaving  us  by  the  Faun  who  fingered 
his  flute,  careless  of  his  head  fallen  in  the  grass  be- 
neath him. 

My  good  master  took  me  by  the  arm  in  the  man- 
ner of  one  who  can  at  length  talk  openly: 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,  my  son,"  said  he,  "I 
must  not  conceal  from  you  that  a  somewhat 
strange  meeting  took  place  this  morning  under  the 
house-roof,  while  you  were  detained  on  the  first 


176  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

floor  by  that  mad  fire-blower.  For  I  overheard 
him  perfectly  asking  you  to  help  him  with  his  cook- 
ing, which  is  far  less  odorous  and  Christian  than 
that  of  Maitre  Leonard,  your  father.  Alas!  when 
shall  I  see  again  the  cook-shop  of  the  Reine 
Pedauque,  and  Monsieur  Blaizot's  book-shop,  at  the 
sign  of  St.  Catherine,  where  I  took  such  pleasure 
in  turning  over  the  new  books  from  Amsterdam  and 
The  Hague!" 

"Alas!"  I  exclaimed — with  tears  in  my  eyes, 
"when  shall  I  myself  see  them  again?  When  shall 
I  see  once  more  the  Rue  St.  Jacques  where  I  was 
born,  and  my  dear  parents  to  whom  the  news  of 
our  misfortunes  will  cause  the  most  acute  grief? 
But  deign  to  explain,  my  good  master,  this  some- 
what strange  meeting  which  you  say  took  place  this 
morning  and  .also  the  occurrences  of  to-day." 

Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard  consented  to  en- 
lighten me  as  I  wished.  Which  he  did  as  follows: 

"You  must  know,  my  son,  that  without  hindrance 
I  reached  the  top  floor  of  the  chateau  along  with 
this  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  whom  I  like  well  enough, 
though  he  is  somewhat  ill-mannered  and  illiterate. 
His  mind  is  not  acquainted  with  what  is  finest,  nor 
curious  beyond  its  depth.  The  vivacity  of  youth 
sparkles  agreeably  in  him  and  the  generosity  of  his 
blood  expends  itself  in  amusing  sallies.  He  knows 
the  world  as  he  knows  women,  from  his  upper  sta- 
tion and  without  philosophy.  It  is  mere  ingenu- 
ousness on  his  part  to  call  himself  an  atheist.  His 
impiety  carries  no  malice  and  you  will  see  it  will 
vanish  of  itself  when  the  heat  of  his  feelings  sub- 
sides. God  has  no  other  enemies  in  this  soul  but 
horses,  cards  and  women.  In  the  soul  of  a  true 
libertine  such  as  Monsieur  Bayle,  for  instance,  truth 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  177 

meets  with  more  redoubtable  and  cunning  adversa- 
ries. But  I  see,  my  son,  that  I  am  drawing  you  a 
portrait  and  a  character  when  what  you  want  of  me 
is  but  a  plain  recital. 

"I  will  satisfy  your  wish.  Having  then  reached 
the  top  floor  of  the  chateau  along  with  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil,  I  showed  the  young  gentleman  into 
your  room,  and  I  begged  him,  in  accordance  with 
our  promise  to  him  before  the  fountain,  to  make 
use  of  the  room  as  if  it  were  his  own.  He  did  so 
without  more  ado,  undressed,  and  merely  retaining 
his  boots,  got  into  your  bed,  whose  curtains  he 
closed  so  as  not  to  be  troubled  with  the  piercing 
light  of  early  dawn,  and  was  not  long  in  falling 
asleep. 

"As  for  me,  my  son,  having  reached  my  own 
room,  although  overcome  with  fatigue,  I  did  not 
wish  to  taste  repose  before  seeking  in  Boethius  a 
passage  suitable  to  my  position.  I  found  none 
quite  fitting,  and  in  truth  the  great  Boethius  had 
no  need  to  meditate  on  the  disgrace  of  having 
broken  a  Farmer-general's  head  with  a  bottle  from 
his  own  cellar.  But  I  gathered  from  his  admir- 
able treatise  some  maxims  here  and  there  which 
permitted  of  application  to  the  present  juncture. 

"Whereupon,  drawing  my  night-cap  over  my 
eyes,  and  recommending  my  soul  to  God,  I  fell 
asleep  quite  peacefully.  After  a  period  which 
seemed  to  me  short,  without  my  having  had  the 
means  to  measure  it — for  our  actions  are  the  sole 
measure  of  time,  my  son,  which  is,  so  to  speak,  sus- 
pended for  us  during  sleep,  I  felt  myself  being 
pulled  by  the  arm  and  heard  a  voice  crying  in  my 
ear:  'Eh!  1'Abbe,  eh!  1'Abbe,  wake  up  then!'  I 
thought  it  was  a  police  officer  come  to  arrest  me 


I78  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

and  take  me  before  the  magistrate,  and  I  deliber- 
ated within  myself  if  'twere  not  better  to  break  his 
head  with  my  candlestick.  It  is  unhappily  but  too 
true,  my  son,  that  once  having  left  the  straight 
path  of  gentleness  and  equity,  where  the  sage  walks 
with  firm  and  prudent  steps,  one  sees  oneself  forced 
to  meet  violence  with  violence,  and  cruelty  with 
cruelty,  in  such  wise  that  the  consequence  of  a  first 
transgression  is  to  produce  others.  We  must  bear 
this  in  mind  if  we  are  to  understand  the  life  of  the 
Roman  Emperors,  which  Monsieur  Crevier  *  has 
set  down  with  exactitude.  These  princes  were 
born  no  worse  than  other  men,  Caius,  surnamed 
Caligula,  lacked  neither  natural  talent  nor  judg- 
ment, and  was  even  capable  of  friendship.  Nero 
had  an  innate  love  of  virtue,  and  his  temperament 
inclined  him  towards  all  that  is  just  and  sublime. 
A  first  transgression  flung  them,  both  one  and  the 
other,  on  the  criminal  path  they  followed  to  their 
wretched  end.  That  is  what  Monsieur  Crevier 
shows  us  in  his  book.  I  knew  him  as  an  able  man 
when  he  taught  literature  at  the  College  of  Beau- 
vais,  as  I  should  be  doing  to-day  had  not  my  life 
been  crossed  by  a  thousand  obstacles  and  had  not 
the  natural  easiness  of  my  spirit  led  me  to  divers 
snares  wherein  I  fell.  Monsieur  Crevier,  my  son, 
was  a  man  of  pure  life,  he  professed  a  severe  mor- 
ality, and  I  once  heard  him  say  that  a  woman  who 
has  broken  her  marriage  vows  is  capable  of  the 
greatest  crimes,  such  as  murder  and  arson.  I 
quote  this  maxim  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  holy 
austerity  of  this  priest.  But  I  see  I  am  wandering 
from  the  point  and  I  hasten  to  take  up  my  story 
where  I  left  off.  I  thought  then  that  the  hand  of 

•  Crevier,  Jean-Baptiste.     Historian,  b.  Paris,   1693-1765. 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  179 

the  police  was  on  me,  and  I  already  saw  myself  in 
the  Archbishop's  prison,  when  I  recognised  the  face 
and  voice  of  Monsieur  d'Anquetil.  'L'Abbe,'  said 
the  young  gentleman,  'a  singular  thing  has  hap- 
pened to  me  in  Tournebroche's  room.  A  woman 
entered  the  room  while  I  was  asleep,  slipped  into 
my  bed  and  awoke  me  with  a  rain  of  caresses,  ten- 
der names,  soft  murmurings  and  ardent  kisses.  I 
opened  the  curtains  to  distinguish  the  features  of 
my  good  fortune.  I  saw  she  was  dark,  of  a  pas- 
sionate eye,  and  the  most  beautiful  creature  in  the 
world.  But  she  then  and  there  gave  a  loud  cry, 
and  fled  away  in  vexation,  not  so  quickly  though 
but  that  I  was  enabled  to  rejoin  her  in  the  corridor 
and  hold  her  in  a  close  embrace.  She  began  by  de- 
fending herself  and  scratching  my  face;  when  I  was 
scratched  enough  for  the  satisfaction  of  her  honour 
we  commenced  explanations.  She  heard  with  pleas- 
ure that  I  was  a  gentleman  and  none  so  poor.  I 
soon  ceased  to  appear  odious  to  her  and  she  had 
begun  to  wish  me  well  when  a  scullion  passing  along 
the  corridor  caused  her  to  fly  without  returning. 

:'  'As  far  as  I  can  see,'  added  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil, 'this  adorable  creature  came,  not  for  me  but 
for  another;  she  mistook  the  door,  and  her  surprise 
was  the  reason  of  her  flight.  But  I  re-assured  her 
well  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  scullion  I  should 
have  won  her  heart.'  I  confirmed  him  in  this  sup- 
position. We  considered  for  whom  this  pretty  per- 
son could  well  have  come,  and  we  both  were  of  ac- 
cord that  it  must  have  been,  as  I  have  already  told 
you,  Tournebroche,  for  that  old  madman  of  a  d'As- 
tarac,  who  visits  her  in  intimacy  in  a  room  near  to 
yours,  or,  maybe  unknown  to  you,  in  your  own. 
Do  you  not  think  so?" 


i8o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"Nothing  is  more  likely,"  I  replied. 

"There  is  no  need  to  doubt  it,"  said  my  good 
master.  "This  magician  mocks  us  with  his  Sala- 
manders. And  the  truth  is  that  he  embraces  that 
pretty  girl.  He  is  an  imposter." 

I  begged  my  good  master  to  continue  his  recital. 
He  did  so  with  a  good  grace. 

"I  abridge  the  discourse  held  with  me  by  Mon- 
sieur d'Anquetil,"  said  he.  "It  is  the  sign  of  a  low 
and  vulgar  mind  to  enlarge  on  small  events.  On 
the  contrary,  we  ought  to  put  them  into  few  words, 
tending  to  conciseness  and  keeping  for  moral  in- 
struction and  exhortation  the  abundant  rush  of 
words  which  it  is  then  fitting  to  pour  down  like  the 
snow  from  the  mountains.  So  I  shall  have  instruc- 
ted you  enough  in  Monsieur  d'Anquetil's  remarks 
when  I  tell  you  that  he  assured  me  he  had  found  in 
this  young  girl,  a  beauty,  a  charm,  and  an  extra- 
ordinary grace.  He  ended  his  speech  by  asking  me 
if  I  knew  her  name  and  who  she  was.  'From  the 
picture  you  have  given  me,'  I  replied,  'I  recognise 
her  as  Jael,  niece  of  the  rabbi  Mosai'de,  whom  I 
happened  to  embrace  on  the  same  staircase — with 
this  difference  that  it  was  between  the  second  and 
third  floor.' 

"  'I  hope,'  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  'that  there 
were  other  differences  for  I,  for  my  part,  held  her 
close  to  me.  I  am  also  grieved  to  hear  you  say  she 
is  a  Jewess.  For  without  believing  in  God,  a  cer- 
tain sentiment  within  me  would  prefer  her  to  be  a 
Christian.  But  what  does  one  know  of  her?  Who 
knows  but  what  she  may  be  a  stolen  child.  Jews 
and  Bohemians  go  off  with  some  every  day.  And 
then  one  so  often  fails  to  remember  that  the  blessed 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  181 

Virgin  was  a  Jewess.  Jewess  or  no,  she  pleases 
me.  I  want  her  and  I  will  have  her.'  Thus  spoke 
the  foolish  youth.  But  my  son,  permit  me  to  take 
a  seat  on  this  moss-grown  bank,  for  last  night's 
work,  my  combats  and  my  flight,  have  weakened 
my  legs." 

He  sat  down  and  drawing  his  empty  snuff-box 
from  his  pocket  looked  at  it  sadly. 

I  sat  down  by  him  in  a  state  of  agitation  and  de- 
pression. His  narrative  caused  me  acute  pain.  I 
cursed  the  fate  which  had  put  a  rough  fellow  in  my 
place  at  the  very  moment  when  my  beloved  mistress 
came  to  seek  me  with  all  the  appearance  of  ardent 
love,  not  knowing  that  I  meanwhile  was  busied  pil- 
ing logs  on  the  alchemist's  stove.  Jael's  more  than 
probable  faithfulness  cut  me  to  the  heart,  and  I 
could  have  wished  that  my  good  master  had  at  least 
observed  more  discretion  before  my  rival.  I  risked 
reproaching  him  respectfully  for  having  given  up 
Jael's  name. 

"Monsieur,"  I  said,  "do  you  not  think  there  was 
a  certain  imprudence  in  furnishing  such  information 
to  so  pleasure-loving  and  headstrong  a  gentleman?" 

My  good  master  appeared  not  to  hear  me. 

"My  snuff-box,"  said  he,  "unhappily  burst  open 
during  the  scuffle  last  night,  and  the  snuff  contained 
therein,  mixed  with  wine  in  my  pocket,  is  now  no 
more  than  a  disgusting  mess.  I  dare  not  ask  Cri- 
ton  to  powder  me  a  few  leaves,  the  countenance  of 
that  old  Rhadamanthus  and  serving  man  appears 
so  cold  and  severe.  I  suffer  all  the  more  at  not 
being  able  to  take  snuff  since  my  nose  tickles  vio- 
lently as  a  result  of  the  blow  I  received  last  night, 
and  you  see  me  quite  worried  by  this  untimely  so- 


1 82  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

licitation  to  which  I  have  nothing  to  give.  I  must 
bear  this  small  misfortune  with  an  equal  mind — 
whilst  waiting  till  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  gives  me  a 
few  grains  from  his  box.  And  to  return  to  this 
young  gentleman,  my  son,  he  expressly  said  to  me 
— 'I  love  this  girl — I  would  have  you  know,  1'Abbe, 
that  I  shall  take  her  with  us  in  the  post-chaise.  If 
I  have  to  stay  here  a  week — a  month — six  months 
or  more — I  shall  not  leave  without  her.'  I  repre- 
sented to  him  the  dangers  that  might  be  incurred 
by  the  least  delay.  But  he  answered  me  that  those 
dangers  troubled  him  the  less;  that  they  were  great 
for  us  but  small  for  him. 

'  'You,  1'Abbe,1  said  he,  'are  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
hanged  with  Tournebroche,  while,  as  for  me  I  only 
risk  being  sent  to  the  Bastille,  where  I  shall  find 
both  cards  and  women,  and  whence  my  family  will 
soon  liberate  me,  for  my  father  will  interest  some 
duchess  or  some  dancer  in  my  case,  and  not  with- 
standing my  mother  having  become  pious,  she  will 
know  how,  on  my  behalf,  to  bring  herself  to  the 
memory  of  two  or  three  princes  of  the  blood.  So 
it  is  a  settled  thing — I  leave  with  Jael — or  not  at 
all.  You  are  at  liberty,  1'Abbe,  to  hire  a  post- 
chaise  with  Tournebroche.' 

"The  wretch  well  knew,  my  son,  that  we  had  not 
the  means  to  do  so.  I  tried  to  make  him  go  back 
on  his  word.  I  was  pressing,  unctuous,  and  even 
exhortatory.  It  was  pure  waste,  and  in  vain  I 
made  use  of  an  eloquence  which  in  the  pulpit  of  a 
good  parish  church  would  have  been  worth  both 
honour  and  money  to  me.  Alas!  my  son — it  is 
decreed  that  none  of  my  actions  should  bear  good 
fruit  in  this  world,  and  it  is  for  me  that  it  is  written 
in  Ecclesiastes : 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  183 

Quid  habet  amplius  homo  de  universo  labore  suo,  quo  la- 
borat  sub  sole? 

"Far  from  making  him  more  reasonable,  my 
speech  strengthened  the  young  man  in  his  obstinacy, 
and  I  will  not  conceal  the  fact  from  you,  my  son, 
that  he  made  plain  to  me  that  he  counted  on  me 
absolutely  for  the  success  of  his  wishes,  and  he 
pressed  me  to  go  and  find  Jael,  so  as  to  persuade 
her  to  agree  to  an  elopement  with  the  promise  of 
a  trousseau  of  fine  linen,  silver  plate,  jewels  and  a 
good  income." 

"Oh!  Monsieur,"  I  exclaimed,  "this  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil  is  uncommonly  insolent.  What  do  you 
think  Jael  will  reply  to  these  proposals  when  she 
hears  of  them?" 

"My  son,"  he  replied,  "she  knows  them  by  this 
time  and  I  think  will  accede  to  them." 

"In  that  case,"  I  replied  quickly,  "we  must  warn 
Mosai'de." 

"Mosaide,"  answered  my  master,  "is  only  too 
well  warned.  You  heard  a  little  time  ago,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  cottage,  the  last  outburst  of 
his  anger." 

"What,  Monsieur,"  said  I  deeply  moved,  "you 
warned  that  Jew  of  the  dishonour  about  to  touch 
his  family.  It  was  just  like  you.  Allow  me  to 
embrace  you.  But  then  Mosai'de's  wrath,  to  which 
we  were  witness,  threatened  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
and  not  you?" 

"My  son,"  replied  the  Abbe,  in  an  honest  and 
noble  manner,  "a  natural  indulgence  for  human 
frailty,  an  obliging  gentleness,  the  imprudent  be- 
nevolence of  a  heart  too  easily  touched,  all  these 
lead  men  oftentimes  to  ill-considered  measures,  and 


i84  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

expose  them  to  the  severity  of  the  world's  empty 
judgment.  I  will  not  hide  from  you,  Tourne- 
broche,  that,  yielding  to  the  young  gentleman's 
earnest  appeals,  I  obligingly  promised  to  go  and 
find  Jael  for  him,  and  to  neglect  nothing  to  make 
her  agree  to  an  elopement." 

"Alas!"  I  exclaimed,  "and  you  fulfilled  that  dis- 
mal promise !  I  cannot  tell  you  to  what  extent 
your  action  wounds  and  afflicts  me!" 

"Tournebroche,"  answered  my  good  master 
sternly,  "you  speak  like  a  Pharisee.  A  divine,  ami- 
able as  he  was  austere,  has  said:  Turn  your  eyes 
upon  yourself,  and  beware  of  judging  the  actions  of 
others.  Judging  others,  one  works  in  vain;  one 
is  often  mistaken,  and  easily  falls  into  sin, 
whereas  in  self-examination  and  self-judgment 
the  occupation  is  profitable.  It  is  written: 
Thou  shalt  not  fear  the  judgment  of  men!  St. 
Paul  the  Apostle  has  said:  It  is  a  very  small 
thing  that  I  should  be  judged  ...  of  men's  judg- 
ment. 

"And  if  I  thus  lecture  on  the  finest  moral  texts,  it 
is  to  instruct  you,  Tournebroche,  and  to  recall  you 
to  the  humble  and  gentle  modesty  which  suits  you, 
and  not  to  make  myself  appear  innocent,  weighed 
down  and  overcome  as  I  am  by  the  multitude  of  my 
sins.  It  is  hard  not  to  slip  into  sin,  and  it  befits  us 
not  to  fall  into  despair  at  each  step  we  take  in  this 
world,  where  all  participate  equally  in  the  original 
curse,  and  in  the  redemption  effected  by  the  blood 
of  the  Son  of  God.  I  do  not  want  to  lend  colour  to 
my  faults,  and  I  confess  to  you  that  the  embassy 
which  I  undertook  on  behalf  of  Monsieur  d'Anque- 
til  proceeds  from  the  fall  of  Eve,  and  is,  so  to 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  185 

speak,  one  of  the  innumerable  consequences  of  it, 
conflicting  with  the  dolorous  and  abject  opinion  I 
hold  of  it  at  present,  which  is  drawn  from  the  de- 
sire and  hope  of  my  eternal  salvation.  For  you 
must  imagine  mankind  balanced  between  damnation 
and  redemption,  and  tell  yourself  that  I  am  at  this 
moment  at  the  right  end  of  the  see-saw,  after  being 
at  the  wrong  end  this  morning.  I  own,  then,  that 
having  taken  the  mandragora  path  which  leads  to 
Mosai'de's  cottage,  I  hid  myself  behind  a  thorn- 
bush,  waiting  for  Jael  to  appear  at  her  window. 
She  soon  showed  herself.  I  discovered  myself  and 
signed  to  her  to  come  down.  She  came  and  found 
me  behind  the  bush  at  a  time  when  she  thought  to 
deceive  the  vigilance  of  her  old  guardian.  There 
I  told  her  in  a  low  voice  the  night's  adventures,  of 
which  she  was  still  in  ignorance,  I  made  known  to 
her  the  designs  the  impetuous  young  man  had  upon 
her,  I  represented  to  her  that  it  was  necessary  in 
his  interest  as  well  as  in  yours  and  mine,  Tourne- 
broche,  that  she  should  assure  our  flight  by  her  own 
departure.  I  dangled  before  her  eyes  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil's  promises.  'If,'  said  I,  'you  consent  to 
follow  him  to-night,  you  shall  have  a  good  wel- 
come, a  trousseau  richer  than  that  of  an  opera 
singer,  or  that  of  an  Abbess  de  Panthemont,  and  a 
fine  service  of  silverplate.' 

"  'He  takes  me  for  a  light  woman,'  said  she,  'he 
is  over  bold.' 

"  'He  loves  you,'  I  replied.  'Do  you  wish  to  be 
worshipped?' 

"  'I  must  have  a  silver  centre-piece  and  a  massive 
one.  Did  he  speak  to  you  of  that?  Go  and  tell 
him,  Monsieur  1'Abbe.  .  .  .' 


1 86  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"  'What  shall  I  tell  him?'  That  I  am  an  honest 
woman.'  'What  more?' 

"  That  he  is  very  forward !'  'Is  that  all  ?  Jael, 
think  of  our  safety!' 

'  Tell  him  then,  I  only  consent  to  go  providing 
a  note  in  proper  form  is  signed  the  evening  before.' 

"  'He  will  sign  it.     Consider  it  done.' 

"  'No,  1'Abbe — nothing  can  be  done  until  he  un- 
dertakes to  give  me  lessons  with  Monsieur  Coup- 
erin.  I  want  to  learn  music.' 

"We  were  at  this  clause  of  our  conference  when, 
as  ill-luck  had  it,  the  aged  Mosaide  surprised  us, 
and  without  hearing  our  conversation  divined  its 
drift.  For  he  began  to  call  me  suborner  and  to 
load  me  with  abuse.  Jael  ran  to  hide  in  her  room, 
and  I  remained  alone  exposed  to  the  fury  of  this 
deicide,  in  the  state  in  which  you  saw  me  and 
whence  you  extricated  me.  Truth  to  tell  the  affair 
was  so  to  speak  concluded,  the  elopement  agreed 
upon,  our  flight  assured.  The  Wheels  and  the 
Beasts  of  Ezekiel  shall  not  prevail  against  the  sil- 
ver centre-piece.  I  only  fear  lest  that  old  Morde- 
cai  should  enclose  his  niece  behind  triple  bolts  and 
bars." 

"In  truth,"  I  replied,  without  being  able  to  dis- 
guise my  satisfaction,  "I  heard  a  great  noise  of  keys 
and  bolts  at  the  very  moment  when  I  drew  you  from 
among  the  thorns.  But  is  it  really  true  that  Jael 
agreed  so  quickly  to  proposals  which  were  far  from 
honest  and  must  have  cost  you  something  to  trans- 
mit to  her.  It  confounds  me.  Tell  me  once  more, 
my  good  master,  did  she  not  speak  of  me — did  she 
not  pronounce  my  name,  sighing,  or  otherwise?" 

"No,  my  son,"  replied  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coig- 
nard,  "she  did  not  pronounce  it,  at  least  not  percep- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  187 

tibly.  Neither  did  I  hear  her  murmur  that  of 
Monsieur  d'Astarac  her  lover,  which  should  have 
been  more  present  with  her  than  yours.  But  be 
not  surprised  that  she  should  forget  her  alchemist. 
The  mere  possessing  of  a  woman  does  not  suffice 
to  imprint  upon  her  mind  any  profound  or  durable 
impression.  Minds  are  impenetrable  to  one  an- 
other, and  this  shows  you  the  cruel  emptiness  of 
love.  The  wise  man  will  say  to  himself:  I  am  as 
nothing  in  the  nothing  that  this  creature  is.  To 
hope  to  leave  a  memory  in  the  heart  of  a  woman 
is  to  wish  to  stamp  the  imprint  of  a  seal  on  the 
face  of  running  water.  Let  us  then  beware  of  set- 
ting our  hearts  upon  what  passes  away,  and  lay  hold 
on  that  which  is  undying." 

"Any  way,"  I  replied,  "Jael  is  under  sound  locks, 
and  we  may  trust  to  the  vigilance  of  her  guardian." 

"My  son,"  continued  my  good  master,  "this  very 
night  she  should  join  us  at  the  Cheval  Rouge. 
Darkness  is  propitious  to  escapes,  ravishments,  fur- 
tive attempts,  and  clandestine  actions.  We  must 
rely  on  the  cunning  of  this  girl.  As  to  yourself, 
take  care  that  you  are  at  the  cross  roads  of  Ber- 
geres  at  twilight.  You  know  that  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil  is  not  patient  and  that  he  is  just  the  man  to 
go  off  without  you." 

As  he  gave  me  this  advice  the  bell  rang  for 
breakfast. 

"Have  you  not  a  needle  and  thread?"  he  asked 
me,  "my  clothes  are  torn  in  several  places,  and  be- 
fore I  appear  at  table  I  should  like  to  restore  them, 
with  a  few  stitches,  to  their  former  decency.  My 
breeches  particularly  disquiet  me.  They  are  so 
injured  that  unless  I  come  to  their  assistance 
promptly  it  will  be  all  over  with  them." 


XVIII 

O  I  took  my  usual  place  at  the 
cabalist's  table  with  the  distressing 
thought  that  it  was  for  the  last  time. 
Jael's  black  treachery  weighed  on 
my  heart.  "Alas!"  I  said  to  my- 
self, "my  dearest  wish  was  to  fly 
with  her.  There  was  no  likelihood 
of  its  being  realised.  Nevertheless  it  is  to  be  and  in 
the  most  cruel  fashion."  And  I  fell  to  admiring 
once  again  my  good  master's  wisdom,  who,  one  day 
I  wanted  too  keenly  that  something  should  succeed, 
answered  me  with  these  words  from  the  Bible: 
"Et  tribuit  eis  petitionem  eorum."  My  sorrows 
and  my  anxieties  took  away  all  my  appetite  and  I 
hardly  put  the  various  viands  to  my  lips.  How- 
ever, my  good  master  kept  his  unalterable  suavity 
of  mind.  He  overflowed  with  agreeable  conversa- 
tion and  one  would  have  said  that  he  was  one  of 
those  sages  shown  to  us  in  Telemaque  conversing 
in  the  shades  of  the  Elysian  fields,  rather  than  a 
man  sought  for  as  a  murderer  and  reduced  to  a 
wretched  and  wandering  life. 

Monsieur  d'Astarac,  thinking  I  had  passed  the 
night  at  the  cook-shop,  asked  me  kindly  for  news 
of  my  good  parents,  and  as  he  could  not  abstract 
himself  for  a  moment  from  his  visions  he  added: 
"When  I  speak  of  that  cook  as  your  father  it  is  to 
be  understood  that  I  express  myself  thus  according 
to  the  world  and  not  according  to  nature.  For 
there  is  nothing  to  prove,  my  son,  that  you  were 
1 88 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  189 

not  fathered  by  a  Sylph.  It  is  indeed  what  I 
should  prefer  to  believe,  however  little  your  still 
youthful  talent  may  grow  in  strength  and  beauty." 

"Oh — do  not  speak  thus,  Monsieur,"  replied  my 
good  master  with  a  smile,  "you  will  force  him  to 
hide  his  wits  that  he  may  not  injure  his  mother's 
good  name.  But  if  you  knew  her  better,  you  would 
think,  as  I  do,  that  she  has  never  had  any  dealings 
with  a  Sylph;  she  is  a  good  Christian  who  has 
known  no  man  but  her  husband,  and  who  bears  her 
good  character  written  on  her  face,  very  different 
from  that  other  cook's  wife,  Madame  Quonian,  of 
whom  there  was  much  talk  in  Paris  and  the  prov- 
inces in  the  days  of  my  youth.  Did  you  never  hear 
of  her,  Monsieur?  She  had  the  Sieur  Mariette  for 
a  lover,  he  who  later  became  secretary  to  Monsieur 
d'Angervilliers.  He  was  a  burly  man,  who,  each 
time  that  he  saw  his  lady-love,  left  her  some  bauble 
as  a  remembrance — one  day  a  Croix  de  Lorraine, 
another  day  a  St.  Esprit,  a  watch  or  a  chatelaine. 
Or,  yet  again,  a  handkerchief,  a  fan,  or  a  casket;  he 
stripped  the  jewelers'  and  drapers'  shops  at  the  fair 
of  St.  Germain  for  her,  till  at  last  the  cook,  seeing 
his  wife  decked  like  a  shrine,  had  a  suspicion  that  it 
was  not  all  honestly  come  by.  He  watched  her  and 
it  was  not  long  before  he  surprised  her  with  her 
lover.  You  must  understand  that  the  husband  was 
a  mere  jealous  wretch.  He  was  angry,  and  gained 
nothing  thereby — quite  the  contrary.  For  the  two 
lovers,  annoyed  by  his  outcry,  swore  to  be  rid  of 
him. 

"The  Sieur  Mariette  had  a  long  arm.  He  ob- 
tained a  lettre  de  cachet  in  the  name  of  the 
wretched  Quonian.  Meanwhile,  the  treacherous 
wife  said  to  her  husband: 


190  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

*  'Take  me  to  dine  in  the  country  next  Sunday,  I 
beg  of  you.  I  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  this 
little  excursion.' 

"She  was  loving  and  urgent.  The  husband,  flat- 
tered, agreed  to  what  she  asked.  Sunday  come, 
he  mounted  into  a  ramshackle  carriage  with  her  to 
go  to  Porcherons.  But  scarcely  had  they  reached 
Roule,  when  a  troup  of  police,  posted  there  by 
Mariette,  arrested  him  and  took  him  to  Bicetre, 
whence  he  was  sent  out  to  the  Mississippi  where  he 
is  still.  They  made  a  song  about  it  which  ended 
thus: 

Wise    husbands    will    live    undistressed 
Nor  open  their  eyes  over  wide. 
It  is  better  to  be  as  the  rest, 
Than  to  see  Mississippi's  far  tide. 

"And  that,  no  doubt,  is  the  most  valuable  lesson 
to  be  drawn  from  the  case  of  poor  Quonian  of  the 
spit. 

"As  for  the  incident,  itself  it  only  wants  telling 
by  a  Petronius  or  an  Apuleius  to  equal  the  best  of 
the  Milesian  fables.  The  moderns  are  inferior  to 
the  ancients  in  tragedy  and  the  minor  epic.  But  if 
we  fail  to  surpass  the  Greeks  and  Latins  in  the  tell- 
ing of  the  story,  it  is  not  the  fault  of  the  ladies 
of  Paris,  who  never  tire  of  enriching  the  subject 
matter  by  many  ingenious  turns  and  pleasing  inven- 
tions. You  are  not  without  knowledge  of  Boccac- 
cio's collection  of  tales,  Monsieur:  I  have  often 
read  them  for  amusement's  sake  and  I  assure  you 
that  if  the  Florentine  lived  in  France  to-day  he 
would  make  poor  Quonian's  misfortune  the  sub- 
ject of  one  of  his  most  amusing  stories.  For  my 
part  I  have  only  recounted  it  while  sitting  here  to 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  191 

make  brighter  by  contrast  the  virtue  of  Madams 
Leonard  Tournebroche,  who  is  the  pride  of  her  hus* 
band's  profession  as  Madame  Quonian  was  the 
shame  of  it.  Madame  Tournebroche,  I  dare  make 
the  assertion,  has  never  been  wanting  in  the  lesser 
virtues  whose  practice  is  recommended  in  marriage, 
which  alone  of  the  seven  sacraments  is  contempt- 
ible." 

"I  do  not  deny  it,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 
"But  this  Madame  Tournebroche  would  be  still 
more  estimable  had  she  had  dealings  with  a  Sylph, 
after  the  example  of  Semiramis,  Olympias,  and  the 
mother  of  the  great  Pope  Sylvester  II." 

"Ah!  Monsieur,"  said  1'Abbe  Coignard,  "you  arc 
always  talking  of  Sylphs  and  Salamanders.  In 
good  faith  have  you  ever  seen  them?" 

"As  well  as  I  see  you,"  replied  Monsieur  d'As- 
tarac, "and  even  nearer,  at  least  as  regards  the  Sal- 
amanders." 

"Monsieur,"  continued  my  good  master,  "still 
that  is  not  enough  for  us  to  believe  in  their  exist- 
ence, which  is  contrary  to  the  teachings  of  the 
Church.  For  we  may  be  led  astray  by  illusions. 
Our  eyes  and  all  our  senses  are  but  messengers  of 
error  and  bearers  of  falsehood.  They  deceive  us 
far  more  than  they  instruct  us.  They  show  us  but 
uncertain  and  fugitive  pictures.  Truth  escapes 
them;  deriving  from  the  eternal  principle,  truth  is 
invisible  as  it." 

"Ah!"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "I  did  not  know 
you  were  such  a  philosopher  nor  of  so  subtle  a 
mind." 

"Truly,"  said  my  good  master,  "there  are  days 
when  my  soul  seems  heavier,  and  more  attached  to 
the  bed  and  the  board.  But  last  night  I  broke  a 


192  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

bottle  over  the  head  of  a  Revenue  officer,  and  it 
has  freshened  my  wits  to  an  extraordinary  degree. 
I  feel  capable  of  scattering  the  ghosts  which  haunt 
you  and  of  blowing  away  all  these  vapours.  For 
indeed,  Monsieur,  these  Sylphs  are  but  the  exhala- 
tions of  your  brain." 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  stopped  him  with  a  quiet  ges- 
ture and  said:  "Pardon  me,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  but 
do  you  believe  in  demons?" 

"I  can  reply  to  that  without  any  difficulty,"  said 
my  good  master,  "for  I  believe  all  that  is  told  us  of 
demons  in  good  books,  and  I  reject  as  error  and 
superstition  all  belief  in  spells,  amulets  and  exor- 
cisms. St.  Augustine  tells  us  that  when  Scripture  ex- 
horts us  to  resist  the  devil,  it  means  we  should  re- 
sist our  evil  passions  and  our  unbridled  appetites. 
Nothing  is  more  detestable  than  all  these  bedevil- 
ments  with  which  monks  terrorise  honest  women." 

"I  see,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "that  you  en- 
deavour to  think  like  an  honest  man.  You  hate 
the  coarse  superstitions  of  the  monks  as  much  as 
I  detest  them  myself.  But  still  you  believe  in  de- 
mons, and  I  had  no  difficulty  in  making  you  avow 
it.  Know  then  that  they  are  none  other  than 
Sylphs  and  Salamanders.  Ignorance  and  fear  have 
disfigured  them  in  the  imaginations  of  the  timid. 
But  in  reality  they  are  beautiful  and  virtuous. 
I  will  not  put  you  in  the  way  of  meeting  with  the 
Salamanders,  not  being  sufficiently  assured  of  the 
purity  of  your  morals;  but  there  is  nothing  to  hin- 
der me  from  inducing  you  to  frequent  the  Sylphs, 
Monsieur  1'Abbe,  they  who  inhabit  the  fields  of 
the  air,  and  who  approach  men  willingly  in  so  benev- 
olent and  affectionate  a  spirit  that  it  has  been  pos- 
sible to  call  them  the  helpful  Genii.  Far  from 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  193 

pushing  us  towards  our  ruin,  as  theologians  be- 
lieve who  take  them  to  be  devils,  they  protect  and 
guard  their  earthly  friends  from  all  peril.  I  could 
give,  you  an  infinite  number  of  examples  of  the 
help  they  give.  But  as  there  must  be  a  limit  I  will 
permit  myself  but  one  story  which  I  have  from 
Madame  la  Marechale  de  Grancey  herself.  She 
was  of  a  certain  age,  and  had  been  a  widow  for 
some  years,  when  one  night  in  bed  she  received  a 
visit  from  a  Sylph,  who  said  to  her:  'Madame, 
make  search  in  the  wardrobe  of  your  late  husband. 
In  the  pocket  of  one  of  his  pairs  of  knee-breeches 
will  be  found  a  letter,  which  were  its  contents 
known,  would  prove  the  undoing  of  Monsieur  des 
Roches,  your  good  friend  and  mine.  See  that  it 
is  given  to  you,  and  take  care  to  burn  it.' 

"The  Marechale  promised  to  follow  this  advice, 
and  asked  the  Sylph  for  news  of  the  defunct  Mare- 
chal,  but  he  disappeared  without  replying. 

"When  she  awoke  she  called  her  women  to  her 
and  sent  them  to  see  if  there  were  any  clothes  of 
the  Marechal's  remaining  in  his  cupboard.  They 
replied  that  there  were  none,  and  that  the  lackeys 
had  sold  them  all  to  the  old-clothes  man.  Madame 
de  Grancey  insisted  that  they  should  search  and 
see  if  they  could  not  find  at  least  one  pair  of  knee- 
breeches.  Having  ransacked  every  corner  they  dis- 
covered at  last  an  old  pair  of  black  taffeta  breeches 
which  laced  up  in  the  fashion  of  a  former  time; 
these  they  brought  to  the  Marechale.  The  latter 
put  her  hand  in  one  of  the  pockets  and  drew  out  a 
letter,  which  she  opened  and  found  therein  more 
than  was  necessary  to  ensure  Monsieur  des  Roches 
being  sent  to  a  state  prison.  She  made  all  speed 
to  throw  this  letter  in  the  fire.  Thus  the  gentle- 


I94  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

man  was  saved  by  his  good  friends  the  Sylph  and 
the  Marechale. 

"I  ask  you,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  were  those  the 
ways  of  a  demon?  But  I  will  give  you  an  instance 
which  will  appeal  to  you  more,  and  which  I  feel  cer- 
tain will  touch  the  heart  of  a  learned  man  like  your- 
self. You  are  well  aware  that  the  Academy  of 
Dijon  is  rich  in  men  of  able  minds.  One  of  them, 
whose  name  is  not  unknown  to  you,  who  lived  in 
the  last  century,  was  spending  learned  vigils  on  an 
edition  of  Pindar.  One  night  when  he  had  worked 
desperately  on  five  lines  whose  meaning  he  could 
not  unravel,  the  text  being  very  corrupt,  he  fell 
asleep  despairing  at  cock-crow.  During  his  slum- 
ber a  Sylph,  who  loved  him,  transported  him  in 
spirit  to  Stockholm,  introduced  him  into  the  palace 
of  Queen  Christina,  led  him  to  the  library,  and 
drawing  a  manuscript  of  Pindar  from  one  of  the 
shelves  opened  it  for  him  at  the  difficult  passage. 
The  five  lines  were  there  with  two  or  three  good 
comments  which  made  them  quite  intelligible. 

"In  his  vehement  joy  the  learned  man  awoke, 
struck  a  light,  and  immediately  set  down  the  lines 
in  pencil  as  he  remembered  them.  Whereupon  he 
slept  profoundly.  The  next  day,  reflecting  upon 
his  nocturnal  adventure,  he  resolved  to  get  light  on 
it.  Monsieur  Descartes  was  in  Sweden  at  the  time, 
with  the  Queen,  to  whom  he  was  teaching  his  phi- 
losophy. Our  Pindarist  was  acquainted  with  him; 
but  he  was  on  more  familiar  footing  with  the  King 
of  Sweden's  ambassador  in  France — one  Monsieur 
Chanut.  He  addressed  himself  to  the  latter  to  for- 
ward a  letter  to  Monsieur  Descartes,  in  which  he 
begged  him  to  tell  him  if  there  was  really  a  manu- 
script of  Pindar  in  the  Queen's  library  at  Stock- 


THE  RHINE  PEDAUQUE  195 

holm  containing  the  different  reading  he  now  in- 
dicated. Monsieur  Descartes,  who  was  extremely 
civil,  replied  to  the  academician  of  Dijon  that  Her 
Majesty  did  in  truth  possess  such  a  manuscript,  and 
that  he  himself  had  read  therein  the  lines  with  the 
different  reading  contained  in  the  letter." 

Monsieur  d'Astarac,  having  related  this  story 
while  peeling  an  apple,  looked  at  Abbe  Coignard 
to  see  the  success  of  his  speech. 

My  good  master  smiled. 

"Ah!  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  see  that  I  flat- 
tered myself  a  moment  ago  with  a  vain  hope,  and 
we  shall  never  make  you  renounce  your  chimeras. 
I  grant  you  with  a  good  grace  that  you  have  shown 
us  an  ingenious  Sylph,  and  I  should  like  to  have  so 
pleasing  a  secretary.  His  help  would  be  particu- 
larly useful  to  me  in  one  or  two  passages  of  Zozi- 
mus  the  Panopolitan  which  are  extremely  obscure. 
Could  you  not  give  me  the  means  of  invoking  at 
need  some  library  Sylph  as  handy  as  the  one  at 
Dijon?" 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  replied  gravely.  "  'Tis  a 
secret,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  which  I  will  confide  to  you 
willingly.  But  I  warn  you  that  if  you  impart  it  to 
the  profane  your  ruin  is  certain." 

"Have  no  fear,"  said  the  Abbe.  "I  am  very 
anxious  to  know  such  a  valuable  secret,  although, 
to  speak  plainly,  I  expect  no  result,  not  believing  in 
your  Sylphs.  So  instruct  me  if  you  please." 

"You  demand  it?"  said  the  cabalist.  "Know, 
then,  that  when  you  wish  for  help  from  a  Sylph  you 
have  but  to  pronounce  the  one  word  Agla.  Im- 
mediately the  sons  of  the  air  will  fly  towards  you, 
but  you  will  understand,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  this  word 
must  be  spoken  from  the  heart  as  well  as  with  the 


196  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

lips,  and  that  in  faith  lies  all  its  virtue.  Without 
faith  it  is  but  an  empty  murmur.  And  as  I  have 
just  said  it,  without  either  expression  or  desire,  it 
has,  even  in  my  mouth,  but  feeble  power,  and  at 
most  some  Sons  of  the  Morning,  hearing  it,  may 
train  their  light  shadows  through  the  room.  I 
rather  guessed  at  than  perceived  them;  I  saw  them 
on  that  curtain,  and  they  vanished  before  they  took 
shape.  Neither  you  nor  your  pupil  suspected  their 
presence.  But  had  I  pronounced  the  magic  word 
with  true  expression  you  would  have  seen  them  ap- 
pear in  all  their  glory.  They  are  of  entrancing 
beauty.  Here,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  you  have  from 
me  a  great  and  useful  secret.  Once  more  let  me 
beg  you  not  to  divulge  it  imprudently.  And  do 
not  overlook  the  case  of  the  Abbe  de  Villars,  who, 
for  having  revealed  their  secrets,  was  assassinated 
by  the  Sylphs  on  the  Lyons  road." 

"On  the  Lyons  road,"  said  my  good  master. 
"That  is  strange !" 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  left  us  in  his  sudden  fashion. 

"I  mean  to  ascend  once  more,"  said  the  Abbe 
"to  that  august  library  where  I  tasted  such  austere 
delights  and  which  I  shall  never  see  again.  Do 
not  fail,  Tournebroche,  to  be  at  the  cross  roads  of 
Bergeres  at  night-fall." 

I  promised  not  to  fail  him;  I  had  planned  to  shut 
myself  in  my  room  to  write  to  Monsieur  d'Astarac 
and  my  good  parents  that  they  must  forgive  my  not 
taking  leave  of  them,  fleeing  as  I  did  after  an  ad- 
venture in  which  I  had  been  more  unfortunate  than 
culpable. 

But  on  the  landing  I  heard  snores  issuing  from 
my  room  and  on  opening  the  door  I  saw  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil  asleep  on  my  bed — his  sword  against  the 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  197 

bed-post  and  playing-cards  spread  all  over  the 
coverlet.  I  had  the  desire  for  a  moment  to  stab 
him  with  his  own  sword,  but  this  notion  was  dis- 
sipated as  soon  as  born  and  I  let  him  sleep,  smiling 
to  myself  in  my  sorrow  at  the  thought  that  Jael 
— shut  behind  triple  bolts — could  not  come  and 
join  him. 

I  went  into  my  good  master's  room  to  write  my 
letters,  where  I  disturbed  five  or  six  rats  who  were 
nibbling  the  volume  of  Boethius  on  the  bed-side 
table.  I  wrote  to  Monsieur  d'Astarac  and  to  my 
mother,  and  I  composed  a  most  affecting  letter  for 
Jael.  I  re-read  it  and  wet  it  with  my  tears — 
"Perchance,"  said  I  to  myself,  "the  faithless  one 
will  mingle  hers  with  them." 

Then,  overcome  with  fatigue  and  melancholy,  I 
threw  myself  on  my  good  master's  mattress  and  was 
not  long  in  falling  into  a  half-slumber  troubled  by 
dreams  at  once  amorous  and  gloomy.  I  was  drawn 
from  my  slumbers  by  the  speechless  Criton  who 
entered  the  room  and  held  out  to  me  on  a  silver 
tray  an  iris-scented  curl-paper  where  I  read  a  few 
words  written  in  pencil  in  an  awkward  hand — I 
was  wanted  outside  on  urgent  business.  The  note 
was  signed:  "Brother  Ange,  unworthy  monk." 

I  ran  to  the  green  door  and  I  found  the  little 
brother  in  the  road  sitting  beside  the  ditch  in  a 
pitiable  state  of  prostration.  Not  having  strength 
to  rise  at  my  approach,  he  turned  on  me  the  dog- 
like  gaze  of  two  big  eyes,  almost  human,  and 
drowned  in  tears.  His  bearded  chest  heaved  be- 
neath his  sighs.  He  said  to  me  in  a  tone  that  car- 
ried grief: 

"Alas!  Monsieur  Jacques,  the  hour  of  trial  has 
come  to  Babylon,  as  was  spoken  by  the  prophets. 


198  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

On  information  given  by  Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude 
to  the  head  of  the  police,  Catherine  was  taken  to 
the  reformatory  by  the  officers  and  will  be  sent  to 
America  in  the  next  convoy.  I  had  the  news  from 
Jeannette  the  viol-player,  who,  at  the  moment  when 
Catherine  arrived  in  the  cart  at  the  reformatory, 
was  just  leaving  it  herself,  after  having  been  kept 
there  through  illness  of  which  she  is  now  cured  by 
the  surgeon's  art — at  least  if  God  wills.  As  re- 
gards Catherine  she  will  be  sent  to  the  islands  with- 
out mercy." 

And  at  this  point  of  his  story  brother  Ange  cried 
copiously.  After  trying  to  stop  his  tears  with  kind 
words,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  nothing  else  to  tell 
me. 

"Alas !  Monsieur  Jacques,"  he  replied,  "I  have 
told  you  what  was  the  most  essential,  and  the  rest 
floats  in  my  head  like  the  Spirit  of  God  on  the 
waters — though  I  mean  no  comparison.  It  is  all 
obscure  chaos.  Catherine's  misfortune  has  de- 
stroyed all  feeling  in  me.  Nevertheless  I  must  have 
had  news  of  some  importance  to  communicate  to 
you,  thus  to  risk  coming  to  the  door  of  this  cursed 
house,  where  you  live  in  company  with  all  kinds  of 
devils,  and  it  was  with  terror,  after  reciting  the 
prayer  to  St.  Francis  that  I  dared  raise  the  knocker 
to  give  a  servant  the  note  I  had  written  to  you. 
I  do  not  know  if  you  have  been  able  to  read  it,  I 
am  so  little  accustomed  to  forming  letters,  and  the 
paper  was  not  good  to  write  upon,  but  it  is  the 
pride  of  our  sacred  order  not  to  yield  to  the  van- 
ities of  the  age.  Oh!  Catherine  in  the  reform- 
atory! Catherine  in  America!  Is  it  not  enough 
to  melt  the  hardest  heart?  Jeannette  herself  was 
crying  her  eves  out  over  it,  although  she  is  jeal- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  199 

ous  of  Catherine,  who  outshines  her  in  beauty  and 
youth  as  St.  Francis  surpasses  all  other  saints  in 
holiness.  Ah,  Monsieur  Jacques !  Catherine  in 
America !  such  are  the  extraordinary  ways  of  Provi- 
dence!  Alas!  our  holy  religion  says  truth,  and 
King  David  was  right  when  he  said  that  all  flesh 
was  grass,  for  Catherine  is  in  the  reformatory. 
These  stones  on  which  I  sit  are  happier  than  I,  al- 
though I  am  clad  as  a  Christian  and  even  as  a  monk. 
Catherine  in  the  reformatory!" 

He  sobbed  afresh.  I  waited  till  the  torrent  of 
his  woes  had  abated  and  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
news  of  my  dear  parents. 

"Monsieur  Jacques,"  he  answered,  "it  is  they 
who  sent  me  to  you  charged  with  an  urgent  message. 
I  must  tell  you  they  are  not  at  all  happy,  it  is  the 
fault  of  Maitre  Leonard  your  father,  who  passes 
all  the  days  God  gives  him  in  drinking  and  in  play. 
And  the  savoury  steam  of  chickens  and  geese  no 
longer  rises  as  once  towards  the  Reine  Pedauque 
whose  picture  swings  dismally  in  the  wet  and  rust- 
ing winds.  Where  are  the  days  gone  when  your 
father's  cook-shop  would  scent  the  rue  St.  Jacques 
from  the  Petit  Bacchus  to  the  Trois  Pucelles? 
Since  that  sorcerer  entered  there  everything  wastes 
away,  man  and  beast,  as  a  result  of  the  spell  he  cast 
on  it.  And  divine  vengeance  has  begun  to  manifest 
in  the  place  ever  since  that  fat  Abbe  Coignard  was 
received  whilst  I,  on  the  contrary,  was  turned  out. 
It  was  the  primary  cause  of  the  evil,  which  came 
from  1'Abbe  Coignard  being  so  proud  of  the  depth 
of  his  knowledge  and  of  the  elegance  of  his  man- 
ners. For  pride  is  the  source  of  all  sin.  Your 
sainted  mother  did  very  wrong,  Monsieur  Jacques, 
not  to  be  satisfied  with  the  lessons  I  charitably  gave 


200  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

you,  which  would  without  doubt  have  made  you  cap- 
able of  ruling  the  kitchen,  handling  the  larding- 
pin  and  bearing  the  banner  of  the  fraternity  after 
the  Christian  death  of  your  father,  whose  last  serv- 
ice and  funeral  cannot  be  long  delayed — for  all 
life  is  transitory  and  he  drinks  exceedingly  hard." 

The  news  caused  me  a  grief  easy  to  understand. 
I  mingled  my  tears  with  the  little  brother's.  At 
the  same  time  I  asked  him  for  news  of  my  good 
mother. 

"God,"  he  made  reply,  "who  was  pleased  to  af- 
flict Rachel  in  Ramah,  has  sent  your  mother,  Mon- 
sieur Jacques,  divers  tribulations  for  the  good  of 
her  soul,  and  for  the  purpose  of  chastising  Maitre 
Leonard  for  his  sin,  when  in  my  person  he  wickedly 
drove  Jesus  Christ  from  the  cook-shop.  For  He 
has  transferred  the  greater  part  of  the  purchasers 
of  poultry  and  pasties  to  Madame  Quonian's 
daughter,  who  turns  the  spit  at  the  other  end  of 
the  rue  St.  Jacques.  Your  respected  mother  sees 
with  sorrow  that  He  has  blessed  that  house  at  the 
expense  of  her  own,  which  is  so  deserted  now  that 
moss  all  but  covers  the  doorstep.  She  is  upheld  in 
her  trials  firstly  by  her  devotion  to  St.  Francis,  and 
secondly,  by  thought  of  your  success  in  the  world 
where  you  bear  a  sword  like  a  man  of  quality. 

"But  this  second  consolation  was  greatly  dimin- 
ished this  morning,  when  the  police  came  to  seek 
you  at  the  shop  to  take  you  to  Bicetre  to  pound  lime 
for  a  year  or  two.  It  was  Catherine  who  de- 
nounced you  to  Monsieur  de  la  Gueritaude,  but  one 
must  not  blame  her,  she  merely  confessed  the  truth 
which  it  was  her  duty  to  do,  seeing  she  is  a  Chris- 
tian. She  designated  you  and  Monsieur  1'Abbe 
Coignard  as  Monsieur  d'Anquetil's  accomplices, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  201 

and  gave  a  faithful  account  of  the  murders  and 
carnage  of  that  awful  night.  Alas !  her  candour 
availed  her  nothing  and  she  was  taken  to  the  re- 
formatory! It  is  horrible  to  think  about." 

At  this  point  in  his  story  the  little  brother  put  his 
head  in  his  hands  and  cried  afresh. 

Night  had  fallen.  I  feared  to  miss  the  rendez- 
vous. Dragging  the  little  brother  out  of  the  ditch 
where  he  was  half  buried,  I  put  him  on  his  feet  and 
begged  him  to  continue  his  narrative  accompanying 
me  meanwhile  on  the  St.  Germain's  road  as  far  as 
the  cross  roads  of  Bergeres.  He  acceded  willingly, 
and  walking  sadly  beside  me  asked  me  to  try  and 
unravel  the  tangled  thread  of  his  thoughts.  I  led 
him  back  to  the  point  when  the  police  came  to  take 
me  at  the  cook-shop. 

"Not  finding  you,"  he  continued,  "they  wanted 
to  take  your  father  in  your  place.  Maitre  Leonard 
pretended  he  did  not  know  where  you  were  hidden, 
your  respected  mother  said  the  same  thing,  with 
many  vows,  may  God  forgive  her,  Monsieur,  for 
she  was  evidently  perjuring  herself.  The  police 
began  to  be  angry.  Your  father  made  them  listen 
to  reason  by  giving  them  drink.  And  they  parted 
quite  good  friends.  During  this  time  your  mother 
went  and  fetched  me  from  the  Trots  Pucelles, 
where  I  was  begging  in  accordance  with  the  holy 
rules  of  my  order.  She  sent  me  with  all  haste  to 
you  to  warn  you  to  fly  without  delay,  for  fear  that 
the  lieutenant  of  police  should  discover  the  house 
where  you  are  living." 

While  listening  to  these  gloomy  words  I  hastened 
my  steps  and  we  had  already  crossed  the  bridge  of 
Neuilly. 

On  the  somewhat  steep  hill  which  mounts  up  to 


202  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

the  cross  roads  whose  elms  we  could  already  dis- 
tinguish, the  little  brother  continued  talking  in  an 
exhausted  voice. 

"Your  worthy  mother,"  said  he  "especially  com- 
manded me  to  warn  you  of  the  peril  which  threatens 
you  and  she  gave  me  a  little  bag  for  you,  which  I 
hid  under  my  robe.  I  cannot  find  it  though,"  he 
added,  after  feeling  himself  all  over.  "And  how 
can  you  expect  me  to  find  anything  after  losing 
Catherine?  She  had  a  great  devotion  for  St.  Fran- 
cis and  was  very  charitable.  Yet  they  have  treated 
her  as  a  harlot,  and  will  shave  her  head,  and  it  is 
terrible  to  think  that  she  will  come  to  look  like  a 
dress-maker's  dummy — and  in  that  state  she  will 
be  shipped  to  America,  where  she  will  risk  dying 
of  fever  or  being  eaten  by  savage  cannibals." 

He  finished  his  recital  with  a  sigh  as  we  reached 
the  cross  roads.  On  our  left  the  inn,  the  Cheval 
Rouge,  lifted  above  a  double  row  of  elms  its 
slate-covered  roof  and  dormer  windows  provided 
with  pulleys,  and  through  the  trees  one  saw  the 
carriage  entrance  wide  open.  I  slackened  my  steps, 
and  the  little  brother  sank  down  under  a  tree. 

"Brother  Ange,"  said  I,  "you  spoke  of  a  packet 
my  good  mother  begged  you  to  give  me." 

"She  did,  indeed,  ask  me  to  do  so,"  replied  the 
little  brother,  "and  I  have  put  the  packet  away  so 
carefully  somewhere  that  I  do  not  know  where  it 
can  be,  but  please  believe,  Monsieur  Jacques,  that  I 
can  only  have  .lost  it  through  over-much  precau- 
tion." 

I  answered  him  \mpetuously  that  he  could  not 
have  lost  it,  and  if  he  did  not  immediately  find  it 
I  would  help  him  myself  to  look  for  it. 

He  was  not  insensible  to  the  tone  of  my  words, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  203 

for  with  a  heavy  sigh  he  drew  from  under  his  robe 
a  small  calico  bag  which  he  regretfully  held  out  to 
me.  I  found  therein  an  ecu  of  six  livres  and  a 
medal  of  the  Black  Virgin  of  Chartres,  which  I 
kissed  while  shedding  tears  of  emotion  and  repen- 
tance. Meanwhile  the  little  brother  was  drawing 
packets  of  coloured  pictures  out  of  all  of  his  pock- 
ets, and  prayers  decorated  with  coarse  drawings. 
He  picked  out  one  or  two  which  he  offered  to  me 
in  preference  to  the  others  as  being  more  useful  in 
his  opinion,  for  pilgrims,  and  travellers,  and  all 
wandering  people. 

"They  are  blessed,"  he  told  me,  "and  efficacious 
when  in  danger  of  death  or  sickness,  either  by  re- 
citing them  aloud  or  by  touching  and  placing  them 
on  the  skin.  I  give  them  to  you,  Monsieur  Jacques, 
for  the  love  of  God.  Remember  to  give  me 
some  alms.  Do  not  forget  that  I  beg  in  the  name 
of  St.  Francis.  He  will  take  you  under  his  protec- 
tion without  fail,  if  you  assist  his  most  unworthy 
son — which  I  certainly  am." 

While  he  spoke  in  this  fashion,  I  saw  in  the  fad- 
ing light  of  day  a  berline  with  four  horses  drive 
out  of  the  carriage  entrance  of  the  Cheval  Rouge 
and  take  its  place  with  noisy  clackings  of  the  whip 
and  neighing  of  horses  at  the  road-side,  quite  near 
to  the  tree  under  which  brother  Ange  was  seated. 
I  noticed  then  that  it  was  not  exactly  a  berline,  but 
a  big  carriage  with  places  for  four  people,  with  a 
rather  small  coupe  in  front.  I  had  been  looking 
at  it  for  a  minute  or  two,  when  I  saw  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil  climbing  up  the  hill  accompanied  by  Jael 
in  a  mob  cap  carrying  some  bundles  under  her  cloak 
and  followed  by  Monsieur  Coignard  laden  with  five 
or  six  ancient  books  wrapped  in  an  old  manuscript. 


204  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

At  their  approach  the  postilions  let  down  the  steps, 
and  my  pretty  mistress,  drawing  up  her  skirts  like 
a  balloon,  hoisted  herself  into  the  coupe,  pushed 
from  behind  by  Monsieur  d'Anquetil. 

At  this  sight  I  ran  forward  crying: 

"Stop,  Jael!  Stop,  Monsieur!"  But  the  sedu- 
cer merely  pushed  the  faithless  one  the  harder,  and 
her  charming  curves  were  soon  lost  to  sight.  Then, 
preparing  to  join  her,  one  foot  on  the  step,  he 
looked  at  me  in  surprise : 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Tournebroche !  You  would  take 
all  my  mistresses  from  me!  First  Catherine  and 
then  Jael.  I  vow  it  must  be  a  wager." 

But  I  took  no  notice  of  him  and  I  still  called  on 
Jael,  while  brother  Ange,  having  risen  from  the 
shade  of  his  elm-tree,  went  and  stood  by  the  door 
offering  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  pictures  of  Saint 
Roche,  a  prayer  to  recite  while  horses  are  being 
shod,  and  the  prayer  against  erysipelas,  and  asked 
for  alms  in  a  mournful  voice. 

I  should  have  remained  there  all  night  calling  on 
Jael  if  my  good  master  had  not  drawn  me  towards 
him  and  pushed  me  into  the  body  of  the  carriage 
whither  he  followed  me. 

"Leave  them  the  coupe,"  he  said,  "and  let  us 
travel  together  in  this  roomy  body.  I  sought  you 
for  a  long  time,  Tournebroche,  and  I  will  not  dis- 
guise the  fact  that  we  were  going  without  you, 
when  I  perceived  you  and  the  monk  under  the  tree. 
We  can  tarry  no  longer,  for  Monsieur  de  la  Gueri- 
taude  is  searching  busily  for  us,  and  he  has  a  long 
arm — he  lends  money  to  the  king." 

The  berline  was  already  moving,  and  brother 
Ange,  hanging  by  the  door  with  outstretched  hand, 
pursued  us,  begging  for  alms. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  205 

I  sank  back  on  the  cushions. 

"Alas!  Monsieur,"  I  exclaimed,  "you  told  me 
that  Jael  was  imprisoned  behind  triple  bolts." 

"My  son,"  replied  my  good  master,  "you  ought 
not  to  have  had  such  confidence  in  them,  for  young 
women  make  light  of  jealousy  and  padlocks.  And 
if  the  door  be  shut  they  jump  from  the  window. 
You  have  no  idea,  Tournebroche,  of  the  cunning  of 
women.  The  ancient  writers  have  given  us  many 
admirable  examples,  and  you  will  find  several  in  the 
book  of  Apuleius,  where  they  are  like  salt  season- 
ing the  narrative  of  the  Golden  Ass.  But  where 
this  cunning  is  best  to  be  seen  is  in  an  Arabian  tale 
which  Monsieur  Galland  has  lately  made  known  to 
Europe,  and  which  I  will  relate  to  you: 

"Schariar,  Sultan  of  Tartary,  and  his  brother 
Schahzenan,  were  walking  one  day  by  the  sea,  when 
they  suddenly  espied  a  black  column  rising  above 
the  waters  and  advancing  towards  the  land.  They 
recognised  a  Djinn  of  the  fiercest  kind,  in  the  form 
of  a  giant  of  prodigious  height  bearing  on  his  head 
a  glass  box  fastened  with  four  iron  locks.  This 
sight  inspired  them  with  such  fear  that  they  went 
and  hid  in  the  fork  of  a  tree  near  by.  Meanwhile 
the  Djinn  stepped  out  on  the  beach  with  the  box, 
which  he  carried  to  the  foot  of  the  tree  where  the 
two  princes  were  hid.  Then  lying  down  himself,  he 
was  not  long  in  falling  asleep.  His  legs  stretched 
as  far  as  the  sea  and  his  breathing  shook  heaven 
and  earth.  While  he  took  his  repose  in  this  ter- 
rifying manner,  the  lid  of  the  box  was  lifted  and 
out  stepped  a  lady  of  majestic  height  and  perfect 
beauty.  She  raised  her  head  .  .  ." 

At  this  point  I  interrupted  the  story  to  which  I 
was  scarcely  listening. 


206  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"Ah,  Monsieur,"  I  cried,  "what  do  you  think 
Jael  and  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  are  saying  to  one  an- 
other now,  alone  in  the  coupe?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  my  good  master,  "that 
is  their  business,  not  ours.  But  let  us  finish  this 
Arabian  tale,  which  is  full  of  meaning.  You 
thoughtlesly  interrupted  me,  Tournebroche,  at  the 
moment  when  the  lady,  raising  her  head,  discovered 
the  two  princes  in  the  tree  where  they  were  hidden. 
She  made  signs  to  them  to  come  to  her,  and,  seeing 
them  hesitate,  divided  between  desire  to  respond  to 
the  appeal  of  so  beautiful  a  person  and  fear  of 
approaching  so  terrible  a  giant,  she  said  to  them  in 
a  low  but  animated  voice,  'Come  down  at  once  or 
I  will  wake  the  Djinn!'  They  understood  by  her 
imperious  and  resolute  look  that  it  was  no  mere 
threat  and  that  the  safest  and  most  agreeable  way 
was  to  come  down.  They  did  so,  taking  all  pos- 
sible precautions  not  to  wake  the  Djinn.  When 
they  got  down  again,  the  lady  took  them  by  the 
hand  and  going  a  little  way  off  with  them  she  made 
them  clearly  understand  she  was  ready  to  give  her- 
self straightway  to  both  one  and  the  other.  They 
lent  themselves  with  a  good  grace  to  this  fancy,  and 
as  they  were  men  of  stout  heart  their  fears  did  not 
spoil  their  pleasure.  Having  obtained  all  she 
wished,  and  noticing  that  each  wore  a  ring  on  his 
finger,  she  asked  for  it.  Then  returning  to  the  box 
wherein  she  dwelt  she  drew  forth  a  chaplet  of  rings 
which  she  showed  to  the  princes. 

"  'Do  you  know,'  she  said  to  them,  'the  meaning 
of  these  threaded  rings?  They  are  those  of  all 
the  men  to  whom  I  have  been  as  gracious  as  to 
you.  There  are  ninety-eight  all  told,  which  I  keep 
in  remembrance  of  them.  I  asked  you  for  yours 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  207 

for  the  same  reason  and  to  make  up  the  hundred. 
So  there,'  she  said,  'are  a  hundred  lovers  whom  I 
have  had  up  to  now,  despite  the  vigilance  and  care 
of  this  wicked  Djinn  who  never  leaves  me.  Let 
him  shut  me  in  a  glass  case  and  keep  me  hidden  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  I  deceive  him  as  often  as  I 
please." 

"This  ingenious  apologue,"  added  my  good  mas- 
ter, "shows  you  woman  to  be  as  cunning,  in  the  East 
where  she  is  kept  in  seclusion  as  amongst  the  Eu- 
ropeans where  she  is  free.  If  one  of  them  has 
formed  a  scheme,  neither  husband,  lover,  father, 
uncle  nor  guardian  can  prevent  its  being  carried  out. 
You  need  not  be  surprised  then,  my  son,  that  to 
betray  the  vigilance  of  that  old  Mordecai  was  but 
mere  play  for  Jael  who,  with  her  perverse  talent, 
mingles  the  skill  of  our  courtesans  with  oriental 
perfidy.  I  suspect  her  to  be  as  greedy  for  pleasure 
as  she  is  for  gold  and  silver,  and  worthy  of  the 
race  of  Aholah  and  Aholibah. 

"Her  beauty  bites  and  stings  the  sense,  and  I 
myself  feel  it  in  some  degree,  though  age,  sublime 
meditation,  and  the  wretchedness  of  a  troubled  life 
have  much  deadened  the  sentiment  of  carnal  pleas- 
ure in  me.  Judging  by  the  pain,  that  the  success 
of  her  adventure  with  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  causes 
you,  my  son,  I  conclude  that  you  feel  the  piercing 
fang  of  desire  far  more  keenly  than  do  I,  and  that 
you  are  wrung  with  jealousy.  That  is  why  you 
blame  an  action,  irregular  it  is  true  and  contrary 
to  vulgar  conventions,  but  indifferent  in  itself — or 
at  least  which  adds  little  to  the  universal  ill.  You 
condemn  me  in  your  heart  for  having  had  a  share 
in  it,  and  you  think  you  uphold  the  moral  view  of 
the  question  when  you  are  but  following  the 


208  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

prompting  of  your  passions.  So  do  we  colour  our 
worst  instincts  in  our  own  eyes,  my  son.  The 
morals  of  mankind  have  no  other  origin.  Never- 
theless confess  that  it  would  have  been  a  pity  to 
leave  such  a  handsome  girl  any  longer  to  that  old 
madman.  Agree  that  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  young 
and  handsome  as  he  is,  is  better  suited  to  such  a 
charming  person,  and  be  resigned  to  what  you  can- 
not prevent.  Such  philosophy  is  difficult,  but  it 
would  be  still  more  so  were  it  your  mistress  who 
had  been  taken.  Then  you  would  feel  teeth  of 
iron  torturing  your  flesh  and  your  mind  would  be 
filled  with  odious  and  over-definite  pictures.  These 
considerations,  my  son,  should  mitigate  your  pres- 
ent suffering.  For  the  matter  of  that,  life  is  full  of 
pains  and  suffering.  That  is  what  has  made  us 
conceive  the  hope  of  eternal  beatitude." 

Thus  spoke  my  good  master,  while  the  elms  lin- 
ing the  royal  road  fled  past  us  on  either  side.  I 
refrained  from  telling  him  that  he  merely  irritated 
me  in  wishing  to  ease  my  woes  and  that  uncon- 
sciously he  touched  an  open  wound. 

Our  first  relay  was  at  Juvisy  where  we  arrived  in 
the  rain  in  the  early  morning.  Entering  the  post- 
ing inn  I  found  Jael  in  the  chimney-corner  where 
five  or  six  chickens  were  turning  on  three  spits. 
She  was  warming  her  feet  and  showing  a  little  bit 
of  silk  stocking  which  greatly  disturbed  me  by  the 
thought  of  the  leg  which  I  pictured  to  myself,  the 
fine  grain  of  the  skin,  and  its  down  and  all  sorts  of 
arresting  details. 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  leant  over  the  back  of  her 
chair,  his  cheek  on  his  hand.  He  was  calling  her 
his  life  and  his  soul,  he  asked  her  if  she  were  not 
hu  grv,  and  when  she  replied  that  she  was,  he 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  209 

went  out  to  give  orders.  Left  alone  with  the  faith- 
less one,  I  looked  into  her  eyes,  which  reflected  the 
flame  of  the  fire. 

"Ah,  Jael!"  I  exclaimed,  "I  am  very  unhappy; 
you  have  deceived  me,  and  you  love  me  no  longer." 

"Who  has  told  you  that  I  love  you  no  longer?" 
she  replied,  looking  at  me  with  a  glance  of  velvet 
and  of  flame. 

"Alas!  Mademoiselle,  it  is  sufficiently  apparent 
in  your  behaviour." 

"What,  Jacques — do  you  mean  to  say  you  grudge 
me  the  outfit  of  fine  Dutch  linen  and  the  embossed 
plate  this  gentleman  is  going  to  give  me?  I  ask 
you  only  to  be  discreet  until  his  promises  are  real- 
ised, and  you  shall  see  me  what  I  was  at  the  Cross 
of  Les  Sablons." 

"Alas,  Jael,  meanwhile  my  rival  will  enjoy  your 
favours." 

"I  feel,"  said  she,  "that  he  will  not  mean  much 
to  me,  and  nothing  can  efface  the  memory  I  have  of 
you.  Do  not  torment  yourself  about  such  trifles; 
they  are  only  of  value  by  your  idea  of  them." 

"Oh,"  I  exclaimed,  "the  very  idea  is  terrible  to 
me,  and  I  fear  I  shall  not  survive  your  treachery." 

She  looked  at  me  in  sympathetic  raillery  and  said, 
smiling: 

"Believe  me,  my  friend,  we  shall  neither  of  us 
die  of  it.  Bethink  yourself,  Jacques,  that  I  must 
have  linen  and  plate.  Be  prudent,  do  not  allow  the 
feelings  which  trouble  you  to  be  seen,  and  I  promise 
to  reward  you  for  your  discretion  later." 

This  hope  somewhat  softened  my  consuming 
grief.  Mine  hostess  came  and  laid  the  lavender- 
scented  cloth,  and  put  the  tin-plates,  goblets,  and 
jugs  on  the  table.  I  was  very  hungry,  and  when 


210  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  came  into  the  inn  with  the 
Abbe  and  invited  us  to  eat  something,  I  took  my 
place  willingly  between  Jael  and  my  good  master. 
In  fear  of  being  pursued  we  left  after  hastily  de- 
vouring three  omelets  and  two  small  chickens.  It 
was  agreed  upon  that  in  this  pressing  danger  we 
should  not  halt  until  we  got  to  Sens,  where  we  de- 
cided to  spend  the  night. 

I  had  horrible  thoughts  of  this  night,  thinking  it 
was  to  witness  the  consummation  of  Jael's  treach- 
ery. And  this  only  too  legitimate  apprehension 
troubled  me  to  such  an  extent  that  I  lent  but  a  dis- 
tracted attention  to  my  good  master's  speech — 
whom  the  smallest  incidents  of  the  journey  inspired 
with  admirable  reflections. 

My  fears  were  not  vain.  Alighting  at  Sens,  at 
the  wretched  hostelry  of  the  Homme-Arme,  scarcely 
had  we  eaten  our  supper  when  Monsieur  d'Anquetil 
led  Jael  away  to  his  room,  which  happened  to  be 
next  to  mine,  and  I  could  not  taste  a  moment's  re- 
pose. I  rose  up  in  the  dawn,  and  fleeing  this  hate- 
ful room  I  went  and  sat  down  mournfully  in  the 
carriage-entrance  amid  the  post  boys  who  were 
drinking  white  wine  and  ogling  the  maid-servants. 
There  I  remained  for  two  or  three  hours  meditat- 
ing on  my  troubles.  The  horses  were  already  put 
to,  when  Jael  appeared  under  the  archway,  shiver- 
ing under  her  black  cloak.  I  could  not  bear  to  look 
at  her.  I  turned  away  my  eyes.  She  came  up  to 
me  and  sitting  down  by  me  on  the  door-post  said 
gently  that  I  was  not  to  distress  myself,  that  what 
I  imagined  to  be  so  monstrous  was  really  nothing 
much,  that  one  must  be  guided  by  reason,  that  I  was 
too  sensible  a  man  to  want  a  woman  to  myself 
alone,  and  that  in  that  case  one  took  a  housekeeper 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  211 

with  neither  wit  nor  beauty,  and  even  then  there 
was  great  risk  to  be  run. 

"I  must  leave  you,"  she  added,  "I  hear  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil's  step  on  the  stairs." 

And  she  gave  me  a  kiss  on  the  mouth  which  she 
lingered  over  and  prolonged  in  a  rapture  of  fear, 
for  her  lover's  boots  were  creaking  on  the  stairs  near 
us,  and  the  pretty  gambler  was  risking  the  loss  of 
her  Dutch  linen  and  embossed  silver  centre-piece. 

The  postilion  lowered  the  step  of  the  coupe,  but 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil  asked  Jael  if  it  would  not  be 
pleasanter  for  all  to  sit  together  in  the  body  of  the 
carriage,  and  it  did  not  escape  me  that  it  was  the 
first  result  of  his  intimacy  with  Jael,  and  that  ful- 
filling of  his  desires  had  rendered  solitude  with  her 
less  attractive.  My  good  master  had  taken  care 
to  borrow  five  or  six  bottles  of  white  wine  from  the 
cellar  of  the  Homme-Arme,  which  he  had  arranged 
under  the  cushions  and  which  we  drank  to  pass  the 
time  on  the  way. 

At  mid-day  we  arrived  at  Joigny,  which  is  quite 
a  pretty  town.  Foreseeing  that  I  should  come  to 
the  end  of  my  funds  before  the  close  of  our  journey, 
and  not  being  able  to  bear  the  thought  of  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil  paying  my  share  of  the  reckoning  with- 
out being  reduced  thereto  by  the  most  extreme  need, 
I  resolved  to  sell  a  ring  and  a  medal  of  my  mother's 
that  I  had  by  me.  I  searched  the  town  for  a  jewel- 
ler. I  found  one  in  the  market-place  opposite  to 
the  church,  who  had  a  shop  full  of  chains  and 
crosses  at  the  sign  of  the  Bonne  Foi. 

What  was  my  astonishment  at  finding  my  good 
master  there,  who,  standing  before  the  counter,  and 
drawing  from  a  twist  of  paper  five  or  six  small 
diamonds  which  I  easily  recognised  as  those  which 


212  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

Monsieur  d'Astarac  had  shown  us,  asked  the  jewel- 
ler what  price  he  thought  he  could  give  for  the 
stones! 

The  jeweller  examined  them,  then  looking  at  the 
Abbe  over  his  spectacles  said: 

"Monsieur,  these  stones  would  be  very  valuable 
if  they  were  real.  But  they  are  false  and  there  is 
no  need  of  the  touchstone  to  be  assured  of  it.  They 
are  beads  of  glass,  only  fit  for  children's  playthings 
— unless  one  were  to  stick  them  in  the  crown  of 
some  village  statue  of  Our  Lady,  where  they  would 
make  a  fine  effect." 

On  hearing  this  Monsieur  Coignard  took  up  his 
diamonds  and  turned  his  back  on  the  jeweller.  In 
doing  so  he  perceived  me  and  seemed  somewhat 
confused  at  the  meeting.  I  finished  my  business 
in  a  very  short  time,  and  finding  my  good  master 
in  the  doorway,  I  represented  to  him  the  wrong  he 
did  himself  and  his  companions  in  making  off  with 
stones  which,  had  they  been  real,  might  have  been 
his  undoing. 

"My  son,"  he  replied,  "God  in  His  desire  to 
keep  me  guiltless  has  willed  that  they  should  be 
jewels  only  in  appearance  and  seeming.  I  confess 
that  I  did  wrong  to  go  off  with  them.  You  see 
that  I  am  regetting  it,  and  it  is  a  page  in  the  book 
of  my  life  I  should  like  to  tear  out,  where  several 
leaves,  to  speak  plainly,  are  not  as  clean  and  im- 
maculate as  they  should  be.  I  feel  keenly  how  rep- 
rehensible my  behaviour  has  been  in  this  particular. 
But  man  should  not  be  over-much  cast  down  when 
he  falls  into  fault;  now  is  the  moment  for  me  to 
say  to  myself,  as  did  a  famous  divine,  'Consider 
your  great  weakness,  which  you  put  to  the  proof 
only  too  often  on  the  slightest  occasion,  and  never- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  213 

theless  it  is  for  your  good  that  these  things  or  oth- 
ers like  unto  them  happen  to  you.  All  is  not  over 
for  you  if  you  find  yourself  often  afflicted  and 
sorely  tempted,  and  that  though  you  succumb  to 
temptation.  You  are  man  and  not  God;  you  are 
human  flesh  and  no  angel.  How  can  you  always 
remain  in  the  same  virtuous  state  when  this  fidelity 
has  failed  the  very  angels  in  Heaven  and  the  first 
man  in  Paradise?'  Such,  Jacques,  my  son,  is  the 
only  spiritual  discourse  and  sound  self-communion 
which  meet  my  present  state  of  mind.  But  is  it 
not  time,  after  this  unfortunate  step  over  which 
we  will  not  linger,  to  return  to  our  inn,  and  there  in 
company  with  the  post-boys  who  are  simple  folk 
and  easy  to  deal  with,  drink  one  or  two  bottles  of 
the  wine  of  the  place?" 

I  sided  with  this  view,  and  we  regained  the  post- 
house  where  we  found  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  who 
had  also  returned  from  the  town  bringing  back 
some  cards.  He  played  piquet  with  my  good  mas- 
ter and  when  we  were  on  our  way  again  they  con- 
tinued playing  in  the  carriage.  This  passion  for 
play,  by  which  my  rival  was  carried  away,  afforded 
me  some  freedom  with  Jael,  who  talked  more  will- 
ingly with  me  now  that  she  was  deserted.  I  found 
a  bitter  pleasure  in  these  talks.  Reproaching  her 
with  her  treachery  and  her  unfaithfulness  I  eased 
my  sorrow  by  complaints  now  low  now  loud. 

"Alas,  Jael,"  said  I,  "the  memory  and  the  vision 
of  our  caresses,  which  were  once  my  dearest  de- 
light, have  become  but  cruel  torture  to  me,  through 
the  thought  that  to-day  you  are  for  another  what 
you  once  were  for  me." 

She  made  answer: 

"A  woman  is  not  the  same  with  every  one." 


2i4  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

And  when  I  lengthily  prolonged  my  wailings 
and  reproaches,  she  said: 

"I  understand  that  I  have  caused  you  sorrow. 
But  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  overwhelm 
me  a  hundred  times  a  day  with  your  useless  com- 
plaining." 

When  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  lost,  his  temper  be- 
came troublesome.  He  molested  Jael  at  every  op- 
portunity, who,  not  being  patient,  threatened  to 
write  to  her  uncle  Mosaide  to  come  and  fetch  her 
away.  These  quarrels  at  first  afforded  me  some 
glimmer  of  hope  and  rejoicing,  but  after  they  had 
been  renewed  several  times,  I  saw  them  arise  with 
anxiety,  having  recognised  the  fact  that  they  were 
followed  by  impetuous  reconciliations  which  pro- 
claimed themselves  to  my  ears  in  sudden  kisses, 
whisperings  and  lustful  sighs.  Monsieur  d'Anque- 
til could  scarcely  endure  me.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  had  a  lively  affection  for  my  good  master, 
who  deserved  it  by  his  equable  and  smiling  temper 
and  the  incomparable  elegance  of  his  wit.  They 
played  and  drank  together  in  a  sympathy  which 
grew  with  every  day.  With  knees  approached  to 
support  the  table  on  which  they  threw  down  the 
cards,  they  laughed,  joked,  and  teased  one  another, 
and  though  it  sometimes  happened  that  they  threw 
the  cards  at  each  other's  heads,  exchanging  abuse 
that  would  have  made  blush  the  dockmen  of  the 
Port  St.  Nicholas  or  the  boatmen  of  the  Mall,  and 
though  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  swore  before  God, 
the  Virgin  and  all  the  saints  that  he  had  never  in 
his  life  seen  a  worse  scoundrel  than  Abbe  Coignard 
even  at  the  end  of  a  rope,  one  felt  that  he  dearly 
loved  my  good  master,  and  it  was  amusing  to  hear 
him  a  moment  after  say  laughingly: 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  215 

"L'Abbe — you  shall  be  my  chaplain  and  my 
partner  at  piquet.  You  must  also  hunt  with  us. 
We  must  search  the  whole  county  of  Perche  for 
a  horse  strong  enough  to  carry  you,  and  you  shall 
have  a  hunting-outfit  such  as  I  have  seen  on  the 
bishop  of  Uzes.  It  is  high  time  anyway  that  you 
had  some  new  clothes,  for,  without  complaining, 
Monsieur  1'Abbe,  your  breeches  really  scarcely 
cover  you  at  the  back." 

Jael  also  yielded  to  the  irresistible  attraction 
which  inclined  souls  to  my  good  master.  She  re- 
solved to  repair  as  well  as  possible  the  disorder  of 
his  toilet.  She  pulled  one  of  her  dresses  to  pieces 
and  made  him  a  present  of  a  lace  handkerchief  to 
make  some  bands.  My  good  master  received  these 
small  gifts  with  graceful  dignity.  I  had  occasion 
to  remark  it  several  times:  he  carried  himself  gal- 
lantly towards  women.  He  showed  an  interest  in 
them  which  never  became  indiscreet,  praised  them 
with  the  insight  of  a  connoisseur,  gave  them  coun- 
sel gained  in  his  long  experience,  and  shielded  them 
with  the  infinite  indulgence  of  a  heart  ready  to  par- 
don all  weaknesses,  and  yet  neglected  no  occasion 
to  make  them  listen  to  great  and  useful  truths. 

Reaching  Montbard  on  the  fourth  day  we 
stopped  on  a  height  whence  we  could  perceive  the 
whole  town,  lying  in  a  small  compass  as  if  it  had 
been  painted  on  canvas  by  some  clever  workman 
careful  to  put  in  all  the  details. 

"Look  upon  these  walls,  these  towers,  belfries 
and  roofs  which  rise  above  the  verdure,"  said  my 
good  master.  "They  constitute  a  town,  and  with- 
out seeking  to  know  its  name  or  its  history,  it  befits 
us  to  reflect  upon  it  as  one  of  the  most  worthy  sub- 
jects of  meditation  that  can  be  offered  us  on  the 


216  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

face  of  the  globe.  Indeed,  a  town  of  any  kind  af- 
fords the  mind  subject  for  speculation.  The  post- 
boys tell  us  this  is  Montbard.  The  place  is  un- 
known to  me.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  fear  to  af- 
firm by  analogy  that  the  people  who  dwell  there, 
like  ourselves,  are  egoistic,  cowardly,  treacherous, 
greedy  and  debauched.  Otherwise  they  would  not 
be  men,  nor  descended  from  Adam,  in  whom,  being 
at  once  miserable  and  yet  worthy  of  veneration,  all 
our  instincts  even  down  to  the  very  lowest  have 
their  august  source.  The  only  point  on  which  one 
might  hesitate  is  to  know  whether  those  people 
down  there  are  more  disposed  to  the  love  of  food 
than  to  reproduction  of  their  kind.  Yet  no  doubt 
is  permissable;  a  philosopher  will  form  the  sane 
opinion  that  hunger,  for  these  unfortunate  beings, 
is  a  more  pressing  goad  than  love.  In  my  salad 
days  I  thought  the  human  animal  was  inclined 
above  all  things  to  the  union  of  the  sexes.  But  it 
was  merely  a  snare;  and  it  is  plain  that  men  are 
more  interested  in  preserving  life  than  in  giving 
it.  Hunger  is  the  axis  of  humanity:  but  as  it 
is  idle  to  dispute  the  matter  here  I  will  say,  if  you 
wish,  that  mortal  life  has  two  poles,  hunger  and 
love.  And  now  is  the  moment  to  lend  me  your 
ears  and  your  hearts!  These  hideous  creatures, 
who  are  bent  on  furiously  devouring  or  embracing 
one  another,  live  together  under  laws  which  straitly 
forbid  them  the  satisfying  of  this  double  and  deep- 
seated  concupiscence.  These  ingenuous  animals, 
having  become  citizens,  willingly  impose  on  them- 
selves privations  of  all  kinds,  respect  the  property 
of  others,  which  is  a  prodigious  thing  considering 
their  greedy  nature,  and  observe  a  modesty,  a  com- 
mon but  enormous  hypocrisy,  consisting  in  rarely 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  217 

speaking  of  what  they  think  of  continually.  For 
own,  in  all  good  faith,  Messieurs,  when  we  see  a 
woman  it  is  not  the  beauty  of  her  soul  and  the  quali- 
ties of  her  mind  on  which  our  thoughts  fix  them- 
selves, and  in  talk  with  her  it  is  her  natural  traits 
we  have  principally  in  view.  And  the  charming 
creature  knows  it  so  well,  that  dressed  by  a  clever 
milliner  she  has  taken  care  only  to  veil  her  attrac- 
tions by  heightening  them  with  various  artifices. 
And  Mademoiselle  Jael,  who  is  no  savage,  would 
be  quite  distressed  if  art  in  her  had  the  upper  hand 
over  nature  to  such  a  point  that  one  could  not  see 
the  fulness  of  her  bosom  and  the  roundness  of  her 
form.  So,  in  whatever  way  we  regard  men  since 
the  fall  of  Adam  we  see  them  hungry  and  inconti- 
nent. Whence  comes  it  then  that  gathered  to- 
gether in  towns  they  impose  privations  of  all  sorts 
on  themselves,  and  submit  themselves  to  a  regimen 
completely  opposed  to  their  corrupt  nature.  It 
has  been  said  that  they  found  it  to  their  advantage, 
and  that  they  felt  that  this  constraint  was  the  price 
of  their  safety.  But  that  is  to  suppose  them  un- 
reasonable, and,  what  is  more,  using  a  wrong 
reasoning,  for  it  is  ridiculous  to  save  one's  life  at 
the  cost  of  what  constitutes  its  excuse  and  its 
value.  It  has  also  been  said  that  fear  held  them 
obedient,  and  it  is  true  that  imprisonment,  the  gal- 
lows and  the  wheel,  all  successfully  insure  obedience 
to  laws.  But  certain  it  is  that  prejudice  has  gone 
hand  in  hand  with  the  laws,  and  one  cannot  well 
see  how  constraint  has  been  so  universally  estab- 
lished. One  defies  laws  as  the  necessary  relations 
of  things,  but  we  have  just  seen  that  these  rela- 
tions, far  from  being  necessary,  are  in  flat  contra- 
diction to  nature.  Hence,  Messieurs,  I  seek  the 


218  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

source  and  origin  of  laws  not  in  mankind  but  be- 
yond them,  and  I  believe  that  being  strange  to  man- 
kind they  come  from  God,  Who  has  shaped  with 
His  mysterious  Hands  not  only  the  earth  and  the 
water,  plants  and  animals,  but  even  nations  and  so- 
cieties. I  believe  that  laws  emanate  straight  from 
Him,  from  His  first  decalogue  and  that  they  are 
inhuman  because  they  are  divine.  You  quite  under- 
stand that  I  am  considering  codes  in  their  underly- 
ing principles  and  essence,  without  wishing  to  enter 
into  their  laughable  diversity  and  pitiable  complica- 
tions. The  details  of  custom  and  prescription 
both  written  and  spoken,  are  man's  part  in  it,  and 
this  part  may  be  disdained.  But  do  not  let  us  fear 
to  acknowledge  it.  The  City  is  a  divine  institution. 
From  which  it  results  that  every  government  should 
be  a  theocracy.  A  priest  noted  for  the  share  he 
took  in  the  Declaration  of  1682,  Monsieur  Bossuet, 
was  not  mistaken  in  wanting  to  lay  down  political 
rules  after  the  maxims  of  Holy  Scripture,  and  if 
he  failed  miserably,  one  can  only  blame  the  weak- 
ness of  his  genius  which  dully  clung  to  examples 
drawn  from  the  book  of  Judges  and  Kings,  failing 
to  see  that  God,  when  He  works  in  this  world,  has 
regard  to  time  and  space  and  knows  how  to  differen- 
tiate between  the  French  and  the  Israelites.  The 
City,  re-established  under  this,  the  only  true  and 
lawful  authority,  would  not  be  the  city  of  Joshua, 
Saul,  nor  David,  it  would  more  likely  be  the  city 
of  the  Gospel,  the  city  of  the  poor,  where  the  work- 
man and  the  prostitute  will  not  be  put  to  shame  by 
the  Pharisee.  Oh,  Messieurs,  how  well  it  would 
be  to  draw  from  the  Scriptures  a  more  beau- 
tiful and  sacred  policy  than  that  which  was  pain- 
fully extracted  by  Monsieur  Bossuet,  so  strict  and 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  219 

harsh  in  style.  What  a  City,  more  harmonious 
than  that  which  Orpheus  raised  to  the  sounds  of 
his  lyre,  shall  rise  on  the  teachings  of  Jesus  Christ, 
the  day  when  His  priests,  no  longer  sold  to  emper- 
ors and  kings,  shall  show  themselves  as  the  true 
princes  of  the  people!" 

While  standing  round  my  good  master,  hearing 
him  discourse  in  this  wise,  we  were  surrounded 
without  our  noticing  by  a  troop  of  beggars,  who, 
limping,  shivering,  dribbling,  waving  stumps,  shak- 
ing goitres,  and  exposing  wounds  running  with  pois- 
onous discharge,  beset  us  with  their  importunate 
benedictions.  They  flung  themselves  greedily  on 
some  coins  which  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  threw  to 
them  and  rolled  together  in  the  dust. 

"It  makes  me  ill  to  look  at  those  unfortunate  be- 
ings," sighed  Jael. 

"Your  pity  sits  on  you  like  an  ornament,  Made- 
moiselle," said  Monsieur  Coignard;  "these  sighs 
lend  a  grace  to  your  bosom  by  swelling  it  with  a 
breath  we  should  each  of  us  like  to  inhale  from 
your  lips.  But  allow  me  to  tell  you  that  this  ten- 
derness, which  is  not  the  less  touching  for  being  in- 
terested, moves  your  bowels  to  compassion  by  the 
comparison  of  these  poor  wretches  with  yourself, 
and  by  the  instinctive  feeling  that  your  young  body 
touches,  so  to  speak,  these  hideously  ulcerated  and 
mutilated  forms,  as  it  is  in  very  truth  allied  and 
attached  to  them  in  so  far  as  we  are  all  members 
of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  whence  it  follows  that 
you  cannot  face  the  corruption  on  the  flesh  of  these 
wretches  without  seeing  it  at  the  same  time  as  a 
presage  to  your  own  flesh.  And  these  wretched 
beings  have  risen  up  before  you  like  prophets  pro- 
claiming that  the  lot  of  the  children  of  Adam  in 


220  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

this  world  is  sickness  and  death.  That  is  why  you 
sighed,  Mademoiselle. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  there  is  no  reason  to  con- 
clude that  these  beggars,  eaten  up  with  ulcers  and 
vermin,  are  more  unhappy  than  kings  and  queens. 
We  must  not  even  say  that  they  are  poorer,  if,  as 
it  appears,  the  Hard  that  woman  with  the  goitre 
has  picked  up  in  the  dust,  dribbling  with  joy,  seems 
to  her  more  precious  than  is  a  collar  of  pearls  to 
the  mistress  of  a  Prince-Bishop  of  Cologne  or  Salz- 
burg. Properly,  to  understand  our  spiritual  and 
veritable  interests  we  ought  to  envy  the  existence 
of  that  cripple,  who  creeps  towards  you  on  his 
hands,  in  preference  to  that  of  the  King  of  France 
or  the  Emperor.  Their  equal  before  God,  he  per- 
chance possesses  that  peace  of  the  heart  which  they 
know  not,  and  the  inestimable  treasure  of  inno- 
cence. But  draw  your  skirts  round  you,  Made- 
moiselle, for  fear  of  the  vermin  with  which  I  see 
he  is  covered." 

Thus  talked  my  good  master  and  we  never  tired 
of  listening  to  him. 

At  about  three  leagues  from  Montbard,  one  of 
the  traces  having  broken  and  the  post-boys  lacking 
the  cord  wherewith  to  mend  it,  as  that  part  of  the 
world  was  far  from  all  habitation,  we  remained 
there  in  a  distressed  condition.  My  good  master 
and  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  killed  the  boredom  of 
this  enforced  halt  by  playing  cards  with  that  sym- 
pathy in  their  quarrels  now  become  a  habit  with 
them.  While  the  young  gentleman  showed  his  as- 
tonishment that  his  partner  returned  the  king  more 
often  than  consorted  with  the  law  of  probabilities, 
Jael  drew  me  aside  and  somewhat  agitatedly  asked 
me  if  I  did  not  see  a  carriage  stopping  behind  us 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  221 

at  a  winding  in  the  road.  Looking  at  the  spot 
she  indicated  I  saw  indeed  an  antiquated  caleche  of 
a  ridiculous  and  odd  shape. 

"That  carriage,"  added  Jael,  "stopped  when  we 
did.  So  it  must  have  been  following  us.  I  wish 
I  could  make  out  the  faces  of  those  who  are  travel- 
ling in  that  concern.  I  am  anxious  about  it.  Is 
it  not  covered  with  a  tall  narrow  hood?  It  is  like 
the  carriage  my  uncle  took  me  in  to  Paris  when  I 
was  quite  small,  after  he  had  killed  the  Portuguese. 
As  far  as  I  know  it  was  left  in  a  stable  at  the  cha- 
teau of  Sablons.  This  one  exactely  recalls  it,  and  a 
horrible  souvenir  it  is,  for  I  last  saw  my  uncle  in  it 
foaming  with  rage.  You  cannot  imagine,  Jacques, 
how  violent  he  is.  I  experienced  his  rage  the  very 
day  of  my  departure.  He  shut  me  in  my  room, 
vomiting  frightful  abuse  on  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coig- 
nard.  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  the  state  he  must 
have  been  in  when  he  found  my  room  empty,  and 
my  sheets  still  fastened  to  the  window  whence  I  es- 
caped to  meet  and  fly  with  you." 

"You  mean  to  say  with  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
Jael." 

"How  punctilious  you  are!  Did  we  not  all 
leave  together?  But  that  caleche  makes  me  anx»- 
ious,  it  is  so  like  my  uncle's." 

"Rest  assured,  Jael,  that  it  is  some  worthy  Bur- 
gundian's  carriage  who  is  going  about  his  business 
with  no  thought  of  us." 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Jael;  "I  am 
afraid." 

"You  surely  cannot  be  afraid  that  your  uncle, 
decrepit  as  he  has  become,  will  scour  the  roads  in 
pursuit  of  you,  Mademoiselle.  He  is  occupied 
with  the  caballa  and  his  Hebrew  speculations." 


222  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"You  do  not  know  him,"  she  made  reply  with 
a  sigh.  "He  is  entirely  taken  up  with  me.  He 
loves  me  so  much  that  he  execrates  the  rest  of  the 
world.  He  loves  me  in  a  way.  .  .  ." 

"In  what  way?" 

"In  all  ways.  ...  In  short  he  loves  me." 

"Jael,  I  shudder  to  hear  you.  Just  Heaven! 
This  Mosai'de  loves  you  without  that  disinterested- 
ness which  is  so  admirable  in  an  old  man,  and  so 
befitting  an  uncle !  Tell  me  everything,  Jael.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  you  can  put  it  into  words  better  than  I, 
Jacques." 

"I   am  stupefied.     At  his   age — is  it  possible?" 

"My  friend,  you  have  a  white  skin  and  a  soul  to 
match  it.  Everything  astonishes  you.  'Tis  this 
candour  that  is  your  charm.  You  are  deceived 
with  very  little  trouble.  You  believe  that  Mosai'de  is 
a  hundred  and  thirty  years  old  when  he  is  not  much 
more  than  sixty — that  he  lived  in  the  great  pyra- 
mid, when  in  reality  he  was  a  banker  at  Lisbon. 
And  had  I  chosen  I  could  have  passed  in  your  eyes 
for  a  Salamander." 

"What,  Jael,  are  you  speaking  the  truth?  Your 
uncle.  .  .  ." 

"Yes — and  it  is  the  secret  of  his  jealousy.  He 
believes  Abbe  Coignard  to  be  his  rival.  He  hated 
him  instinctively  at  first  sight.  But  it  is  quite  an- 
other matter  now  when,  having  overhead  several 
words  of  the  interview  th-.  good  Abbe  had  with  me 
among  the  thorn-bushes,  he  may  hate  him  as  the 
cause  of  my  flight  and  elopement.  For,  indeed,  I 
was  carried  off,  my  friend,  and  that  should  put  a 
certain  value  on  me  in  your  eyes.  Oh!  I  was  very 
ungrateful  to  leave  such  a  good  uncle.  But  I 
could  not  endure  the  slavery  in  which  he  kept  me 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  223 

any  longer.  And  then  I  had  an  ardent  desire  to 
grow  rich;  it  is  very  natural,  is  it  not,  to  want  nice 
things  when  one  is  young  and  pretty?  We  have 
but  one  life  and  that  a  short  one.  I  have  been 
taught  no  beautiful  lies  about  the  immortality  of 
the  soul." 

"Alas!  Jael,"  I  exclaimed  in  an  ardour  of  love 
which  lent  me  hardihood,  "I  lacked  nothing  when 
I  was  near  you  at  Sablons;  what  did  you  lack  to 
be  happy?" 

She  signed  to  me  that  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  was 
observing  us.  The  trace  was  mended  and  the  ber- 
line  rolled  on  between  the  vine-covered  slopes. 

We  stopped  at  Nuits  to  sup  and  sleep  the  night. 
My  good  master  drank  half  a  dozen  bottles  of 
the  native  wine  which  marvellously  heightened  his 
eloquence.  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  made  a  good  sec- 
ond, glass  in  hand,  but  as  to  coping  with  him  in  con- 
versation the  gentleman  was  quite  incapable  of 
that. 

The  cheer  was  good,  the  lodging  was  bad. 
Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  slept  in  the  low  room 
under  the  stairs,  on  a  feather-bed  which  he  shared 
with  the  inn-keeper  and  his  wife  and  where  they  all 
thought  to  suffocate. 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil  took  the  upper  room  with 
Jael,  where  the  bacon  and  onions  hung  from  the 
rafters.  I  climbed  up  to  the  loft  by  a  ladder  and 
lay  down  on  the  straw.  My  first  deep  sleep  over, 
the  rays  of  the  moon,  whose  light  came  through  the 
cracks  in  the  roof,  slipped  under  my  eyelids  and 
opened  them  in  time  for  me  to  see  Jael  in  her  night- 
cap coming  through  the  trap-door.  At  the  cry  I 
gave  she  put  her  finger  on  her  lips. 

"Hush!"  she  said,  "Maurice  is  drunk  as  a  porter 


224  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

or  a  lord.  He  sleeps  the  sleep  of  Noah  down  be- 
low." 

"Maurice,  who  is  that?"  I  asked,  rubbing  my 
eyes. 

"Anquetil.     Who  else  should  it  be?' 

"No  one.  But  /  did  not  know  that  he  was  called 
Maurice." 

"I  have  not  known  it  long  myself.  But  that  is 
no  matter." 

"You  are  right,  Jael.  That  is  of  no  conse- 
quence." 

She  was  in  her  chemise,  and  the  moonlight  lay 
like  milk  on  her  naked  shoulders.  She  glided  to 
my  side,  calling  me  the  tenderest  and  again  the 
coarsest  of  names,  which  slid  from  her  lips  in  soft 
murmurings.  Then  she  spoke  no  more  and  began 
to  give  me  kisses  as  only  she  knew  how  and  in  com- 
parison with  which  the  caresses  of  other  women 
were  insipid. 

The  restraint  and  the  silence  augmented  the  high 
tension  of  my  nerves.  Surprise,  the  pleasure  of 
revenge,  and  maybe,  a  perverse  jealousy,  all  added 
flame  to  my  desires.  The  elasticity  of  her  body 
and  the  supple  strength  of  her  movements  asked, 
promised,  and  deserved  the  most  ardent  of  caresses. 
We  knew  those  deeps  of  pleasure  that  border  upon 
pain. 

On  going  down  to  the  courtyard  of  the  hostelry 
next  morning,  I  found  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  there, 
who  seemed  less  odious  to  me  now  that  I  had  de- 
ceived him. 

On  his  side  he  seemed  more  drawn  to  me  than  he 
had  been  since  the  beginning  of  our  journey.  He 
spoke  to  me  with  familiarity,  sympathy,  and  trust- 
fulness, he  reproached  me  with  showing  Jael  so 


THE  REINE   PEDAUQUE          225 

little  consideration  and  gallantry,  and  with  not  pay- 
ing her  those  attentions  which  a  good  man  should 
pay  to  every  woman. 

"She  complains,"  he  said,  "of  your  incivility. 
Take  note  of  it,  my  dear  Tournebroche ;  I  should 
be  sorry  if  there  were  any  unpleasantness  between 
her  and  you.  She  is  a  pretty  girl  and  exceedingly 
fond  of  me." 

The  berline  had  been  on  its  way  an  hour  when 
Jael,  having  put  her  head  out  of  the  window,  said: 

"The  caleche  has  turned  up  again.  I  would 
much  like  to  see  the  faces  of  the  two  men  in  it. 
But  I  cannot  succeed." 

I  replied  that  such  a  long  way  off,  and  in  the 
early  morning  mist  too,  we  could  distinguish 
nothing. 

She  made  reply  that  her  sight  was  so  keen,  that 
she  could  distinguish  them  well  notwithstanding  the 
mist  and  the  distance,  were  they  really  faces. 

"But,"  added  she,  "they  are  not  faces." 

"What  do  you  think  they  are  then?"  I  asked 
with  a  burst  of  laughter. 

In  her  turn  she  asked  me  what  absurd  idea  had 
entered  my  mind  that  I  shoulj  laugh  in  such  a 
stupid  fashion,  and  said: 

"They  are  not  faces,  they  are  masks.  Those 
two  men  are  following  us  and  they  are  masked." 

I  warned  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  that  it  appeared 
we  were  being  pursued  by  a  wretched  caleche.  But 
he  begged  me  to  leave  him  in  peace. 

"If  a  hundred  thousand  devils  were  at  our  heels 
I  should  not  trouble  myself,"  he  exclaimed,  "hav- 
ing plenty  to  do  in  keeping  a  watch  on  this  fat 
hang-dog  rascal  of  an  Abbe,  who  forces  the  cards 
in  an  underhand  way  and  steals  all  my  money.  I 


226  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

should  even  not  be  astonished  that  in  thrusting  that 
wretched  caleche  on  me  in  the  middle  of  my  game, 
you  were  in  league  with  this  old  cheat.  Can  a  car- 
riage not  travel  on  the  road  without  causing  you 
emotion?" 

Jael  whispered  low  in  my  ear: 

"Jacques,  I  foresee  that  caleche  will  bring  us 
some  evil.  I  have  a  presentiment  and  my  presenti- 
ments are  never  wrong." 

"Do  you  want  to  make  me  believe  you  have  the 
gift  of  prophecy?" 

She  gravely  answered:     "Indeed  I  have." 

"What,  you  a  prophetess!"  I  exclaimed  smiling. 
"How  strange  I" 

"You  laugh  at  me,"  she  said,  "and  you  doubt  of 
it  because  you  have  never  seen  a  prophetess  so  close 
before.  How  would  you  have  her  look?" 

"I  thought  they  had  to  be  virgins." 

"That  is  not  at  all  necessary,"  she  replied  with, 
assurance. 

The  rival  caleche  was  lost  to  sight  behind  a 
turning  in  the  road.  But  Jael's  anxiety  had  affected 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil  without  his  avowing  it  and  he 
gave  orders  to  the  post-boys  to  increase  their  speed, 
promising  to  pay  them  good  money. 

With  an  excess  of  solicitude  he  passed  each  of 
them  one  of  the  bottles  that  the  Abbe  had  kept  in 
reserve  at  the  back  of  the  carriage. 

The  postilions  communicated  to  their  horses  the 
ardour  they  drew  from  the  wine. 

"You  may  make  your  mind  easy,  Jael,"  said  he, 
"at  the  rate  we  are  going  that  ancient  caleche 
drawn  by  the  horses  of  the  Apocalypse  will  not 
catch  us  up." 

"We  go  like  a  cat  on  hot  bricks,"  said  the  Abbe. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          227 

"If  only  it  lasts!"  said  Jael.  ^ 

On  our  right  we  saw  the  vine  rows  planted  at 
intervals  fly  by  on  the  slopes.  On  the  left  the 
Saone  flowed  sluggishly.  We  passed  the  bridge  of 
Tournus  like  a  whirlwind.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  river  rose  the  town  on  a  hill  crowned  with  abbey 
walls  strong  as  a  fortress. 

"That,"  said  the  Abbe,  "is  one  of  the  innumer- 
able Benedictine  abbeys  which  are  sewn  like  jewels 
on  the  robe  of  ecclesiastical  Gaul.  Had  it  pleased 
God  that  my  destiny  had  accorded  with  my  charac- 
ter, my  life  would  have  slipped  by,  obscure,  easy, 
and  joyful  in  one  of  those  houses.  There  is  no 
order  for  doctrine  and  way  of  life  I  hold  equal  to 
the  Benedictine.  They  possess  admirable  libraries. 
Happy  is  he  who  wears  their  habit  and  follows 
their  holy  rule !  Either  from  the  discomfort  I  feel 
at  present  in  being  so  rudely  shaken  in  this  carriage 
which  will  not  fail  to  upset  shortly  in  one  of  the 
many  ruts  in  which  this  road  is  so  deeply  worn,  or 
more  likely  as  the  result  of  my  time  of  life,  which 
inclines  to  retirement  and  serious  thought,  I  long 
more  ardently  than  ever  to  seat  myself  at  a  table 
in  some  old  library,  where  numerous  and  choice 
books  are  gathered  together  in  silence.  I  prefer 
their  conversation  to  that  of  man,  and  my  dearest 
wish  is  to  await,  while  busied  with  intellectual  work, 
the  hour  when  God  will  withdraw  me  from  this 
world.  I  would  write  histories,  preferably  that  of 
the  Romans,  in  the  decline  of  the  Republic.  For  it 
is  full  of  instruction  and  great  deeds.  I  would  divide 
my  zeal  between  Cicero,  St.  Johrt  Chrysostom  and 
Boethius;  my  life  passed  thus  modestly  and  fruit- 
fully would  be  like  unto  the  garden  of  the  old  man  of 
Tarentum. 


228  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"I  have  tried  various  ways  of  living,  and  I  judge 
that  the  best  of  all  is,  while  giving  myself  up  to 
study,  to  look  on  in  peace  at  the  changes  in  man- 
kind, and  to  prolong  by  the  contemplation  of  cen- 
turies and  empires  the  briefness  of  our  days.  But 
sequence  and  continuity  are  necessary.  They  have 
been  more  wanting  than  anything  in  my  life.  If, 
as  I  hope  to  do,  I  succeed  in  recovering  from  this 
present  false  step  I  shall  endeavour  to  find  an 
honourable  and  safe  shelter  in  some  learned  abbey 
where  letters  flourish  and  are  in  honour.  I  already 
see  myself  there  tasting  the  peaceful  renown  of 
knowledge.  Could  I  but  count  on  this  good  turn 
from  the  helpful  Sylphs  of  whom  that  old  madman 
d'Astarac  speaks  and  who  appear,  it  is  said,  when 
they  are  invoked  by  the  cabalistic  name  of 
Agla.  .  .  r 

At  the  moment  my  good  master  pronounced  this 
word  a  sudden  shock  overwhelmed  us  all  four  under 
a  hail  of  glass,  in  such  confusion  that  I  found  my- 
self suddenly  blinded  and  suffocated  beneath  Jael's 
skirts,  while  Monsieur  Coignard,  in  a  stifled  voice, 
denounced  Monsieur  d'Anquetil's  sword  for  having 
broken  all  the  teeth  he  had  left,  and  above  my  head 
Jael  gave  vent  to  cries  which  rent  all  the  valleys 
of  Burgundy.  Meanwhile  Monsieur  d'Anquetil 
was  promising  the  postilions  to  have  them  all  hung. 
By  the  time  I  succeeded  in  freeing  myself  he  had 
already  jumped  through  a  broken  window;  we  fol- 
lowed him  by  the  same  way  my  good  master  and 
I,  and  then  we  all  three  drew  Jael  from  the  over- 
turned carriage.  She  was  unhurt  and  her  first  care 
was  to  re-adjust  her  hair. 

"Thank  Heaven,"  said  my  good  master,  "I  have 
escaped  with  the  loss  of  a  tooth,  and  one  neither 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  229 

perfect  nor  white  at  that.  Time,  by  its  attack,  had 
prepared  it  for  its  fall." 

Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  with  legs  wide  apart  and 
hands  on  his  hips,  was  examining  the  over-turned 
carriage. 

"The  rogues  have  made  it  in  a  pretty  state,"  said 
he.  "If  we  get  the  horses  up,  it  will  fall  in  the 
gutter.  L'Abbe,  it  is  good  for  nothing  but  to  play 
spellicans  with." 

The  horses,  fallen  one  over  another,  kicked  each 
other  with  their  hoofs.  In  a  confused  heap  of 
cruppers,  manes,  flanks  and  steaming  bellies,  one 
of  the  postilions  was  buried,  boots  in  air.  The 
other  was  spitting  blood  in  the  ditch  where  he  had 
been  flung.  And  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  shouted  at 
them: 

"Fools!  I  do  not  know  what  keeps  me  from 
running  my  sword  through  your  bodies!" 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Abbe,  "would  it  not  first 
be  better  to  drag  that  poor  man  from  amidst  the 
horses  where  he  is  buried?" 

We  all  set  to  work,  and  when  the  horses  were 
unharnessed  and  got  up,  we  knew  the  extent  of  the 
damage. 

There  was  a  spring  smashed,  a  wheel  broken  and 
one  horse  lamed.  "Fetch  a  wheelwright,"  said 
Monseiur  d'Anquetil  to  the  postilions,  "and  let  all 
be  made  ready  within  an  hour." 

"There  is  no  wheelwright  here,"  said  the  postil- 
ions. 

"A  farrier." 

"There  is  no  farrier." 

"A  saddler." 

"There  is  no  saddler." 

We  looked  round   us.     In   the   setting  sun  the 


230  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

vine-covered  slopes  stretched  in  long  peaceful  lines 
to  the  horizon.  On  the  height  smoke  rose  from  a 
roof  near  by  a  belfry.  On  the  other  side  the 
Saone,  veiled  in  light  mist,  was  gently  effacing  the 
ripple  made  by  a  boat  which  had  just  passed.  The 
shadows  of  the  poplars  were  lengthening  on  the 
bank.  The  sharp  cry  of  a  bird  pierced  the  vast 
silence. 

"Where  are  we?"  asked  Monsieur  d'Anquetil. 

"Two  good  leagues  from  Tournus,"  replied  the 
postilion  who  had  fallen  in  the  ditch,  spitting  blood 
as  he  did  so,  "and  at  least  four  from  Macon." 

And  raising  his  arm  towards  the  roof  smoking 
on  the  hill: 

"That  village  up  there  must  be  Vallars.  Its  re- 
sources are  small." 

"God's  thunder  split  you!"  said  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil. 

While  the  horses,  huddled  together,  nibbled  at 
each  other's  necks,  we  drew  near  the  carriage  lying 
sorrily  on  its  side.  The  little  postilion,  who  had 
been  drawn  from  under  the  horses  said : 

"As  for  the  spring,  that  could  be  remedied  by  a 
strong  piece  of  wood  fitted  to  the  strap.  The  car- 
riage would  only  be  slightly  more  shaky.  But  there 
is  the  broken  wheel!  And  the  worst  of  it  is  my 
hat  is  underneath  it." 

"Damn  your  hat,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil. 

"Your  Lordship  does  not  perhaps  know  it  was 
quite  new,"  said  the  little  postilion. 

"And  the  broken  windows!"  sighed  Jael — sitting 
on  her  portmanteau  on  the  road-side. 

"If  it  were  only  the  windows,"  said  my  good 
master,  "we  could  fill  their  places  by  lowering  the 
blinds,  but  the  bottles  must  be  in  exactly  the  same 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  231 

state  as  the  windows.  That  is  what  I  must  make 
sure  of  as  soon  as  the  berline  is  right  side  up.  I  am 
equally  troubled  about  my  Boethius  which  I  left 
under  the  cushions  with  several  other  good  works." 

"They  matter  nothing,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anque- 
til,  "I  have  got  the  cards  in  my  waistcoat  pocket. 
But  are  we  not  going  to  sup?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,"  said  the  Abbe.  "It  is 
not  in  vain  that  God  has  given  man  for  his  use,  the 
animals  which  people  the  earth,  sky  and  water.  I 
am  an  excellent  angler,  the  careful,  watch  for  fish 
particularly  suits  my  meditative  spirit,  and  the 
Orne  has  seen  me  holding  the  insidious  line  and 
pondering  the  eternal  verities.  Have  no  fear 
about  your  supper.  If  Mademoiselle  Jael  will 
kindly  give  me  one  of  the  pins  which  support  her 
attire  I  will  soon  make  a  hook  of  it,  with  which  to 
fish  in  the  river,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  shall 
bring  you  two  or  three  small  carp  before  night-fall, 
which  we  will  grill  over  a  fire  of  brushwood." 

"I  clearly  perceive,"  said  Jael,  "that  we  are  re- 
duced to  a  savage  state.  But  I  cannot  give  you  a 
pin,  1'Abbe,  unless  you  give  me  something  in  ex- 
change, otherwise  our  friendship  runs  the  risk  of 
being  broken.  And  I  do  not  want  that  to  occur." 

"Then  I  will  make  an  advantageous  bargain," 
said  my  good  master.  "I  will  pay  for  your  pin 
with  a  kiss,  Mademoiselle." 

Thereupon,  taking  the  pin,  he  put  his  lips  to 
Jael's  cheek  in  an  indescribably  charming,  graceful 
and  becoming  manner. 

After  wasting  a  good  deal  of  time  we  decided  on 
the  most  sensible  method.  The  tall  postilion,  who 
spat  blood  no  longer,  was  sent  to  Tournus  with 
a  horse  to  bring  back  a  wheelwright,  while  his  fel- 


232  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

low  lighted  a  fire  in  a  sheltered  spot,  for  the  air  was 
becoming  fresh  and  the  wind  was  rising. 

We  perceived  on  the  road  a  hundred  paces  be- 
yond the  scene  of  our  downfall,  a  hill  of  soft  stone 
whose  base   was   hollowed   in  places.     In   one   of 
these  hollows  we  decided  to  await  the  return  of  the 
postilion  sent  as  a  messenger  to  Tournus,  warming 
ourselves   meanwhile.     The    second    postilion    tied 
the    three    remaining    horses,    one    of    which    was 
lamed,  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  near  by  our  cave. 
The  Abbe,  who  had  succeeded  in  making  a  line  with 
some  branches  of  willow,  a  string,  a  cork,  and  a 
pin,  went  off  to  angle,  inclined  thereto  as  much  by 
his  philosophic  and  meditative  turn  as  by  the  design 
of  bringing  us  some  fish.      Monsieur  d'Anquetil  re- 
maining with  Jael  and  me  in  the  grotto  proposed  a 
game  of  ombre,  which  three  can  play  at,  and  which, 
being  Spanish,  he  said  was  suitable  to  such  adventur- 
ous people  as  we  were  for  the  time  being.     And  in 
truth,  in  this  stone-pit,  at  night-fall,  on  a  deserted 
road,  our  little  party  would  not  have  seemed  un- 
worthy to  figure  in  one  of  those  encounters  of  Don 
Quigeot  or  Don  Quichotte  which  amuse  the  serv- 
ants.    So    we    played    at    ombre.      It    is    a    game 
which  needs  to  be  taken  seriously.     I  made  many 
mistakes  and  my  impatient  partner  began  to  be  an- 
gry, when  the  fine  and  smiling  countenance  of  my 
good  master  appeared  before  us  in  the  fire-light. 
Untying  his  handkerchief   Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coig- 
nard  took  out  four  or  five  small  fish,  which  he  cut 
open  with  his  knife  ornamented  with  the  image  of 
the  late  king  as  a  Roman  emperor  on  a  triumphant 
column,  and  which  he  gutted  as  easily  as  if  he  had 
never  lived  anywhere  but  among  the  fish-wives  in 
the  market,  so  much  did  he  excel  in  the  smallest  un- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          233 

dertakings  as  in  the  greater.  While  he  arranged 
this  small  fry  over  the  ashes  he  said: 

"I  will  confide  to  you  that  following  the  river  on 
its  downward  course,  looking  for  a  favourable  bank 
whence  to  fish,  I  perceived  the  Apocalyptic  caleche 
which  strikes  terror  into  Mademoiselle  Jael.  It 
had  stopped  some  way  off  behind  our  berline.  You 
must  have  seen  it  pass  by  here  while  I  was  fishing 
in  the  river,  and  it  must  have  brought  consolation 
to  the  mind  of  Mademoiselle  here." 

"We  did  not  see  it,"  said  Jael. 

"Then  it  must  have  started  off  again,  when  night 
had  already  fallen;  and  at  least  you  must  have 
heard  it." 

"We  have  not  heard  it,"  said  Jael. 

"Then  the  night  must  be  both  blind  and  deaf. 
For  it  is  scarcely  believable  that  that  caleche  with 
neither  a  broken  wheel  nor  a  lame  horse,  should 
have  stayed  on  the  road.  What  could  it  do  there?" 

"Yes,  what  could  it  do  there?"  said  Jael. 

"This  supper,"  said  my  good  master,  "by  its 
simplicity,  recalls  those  repasts  in  the  Bible,  where 
the  pious  traveller  shares  fish  from  the  Tigris  with 
an  angel  on  the  river  bank.  But  we  need  bread, 
salt  and  wine.  I  shall  try  to  get  the  provisions  out 
of  the  berline  where  they  are  shut  up,  and  see  if  by 
chance  a  bottle  has  not  been  preserved  intact.  For 
there  are  times  when  glass  will  not  break  under  a 
blow  which  would  shatter  steel.  Tournebroche,  my 
son,  please  give  me  your  flint  and  steel;  and  you, 
Mademoiselle,  do  not  fail  to  turn  the  fish.  I  shall 
return  immediately." 

He  went  off,  his  somewhat  heavy  step  died  away 
slowly  on  the  road,  and  soon  we  heard  nothing 
more. 


234  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"The  night,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  "re- 
minds me  of  the  one  which  preceded  the  battle  of 
Parma.  For  you  are  not  ignorant  of  the  fact  that 
I  served  under  Villars  and  fought  in  the  war  of 
succession.  I  was  among  the  scouts.  We  saw 
nothing.  That  is  one  of  the  artifices  of  war. 
They  send  men  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy,  who  come 
back  without  having  seen  or  heard  anything.  But 
they  make  reports  out  of  it  after  the  battle,  and 
that  is  where  the  tacticians  triumph.  Well,  then, 
at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  I  was  sent  out  as  a 
scout  with  twelve  troopers.  .  .  ." 

And  he  told  us  of  the  war  of  succession,  and  of 
his  love-passages  in  Italy;  his  recital  lasted  fully  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  after  which  he  exclaimed: 

"That  rascal  of  an  Abbe  does  not  come  back.  I 
wager  he  is  drinking  all  the  wine  left  in  the  slings 
over  there." 

Thinking  then  that  my  good  master  might  be 
somewhat  hampered  I  got  up  to  go  to  his  aid.  The 
night  was  moonless,  and  while  the  sky  glittered  with 
stars  the  earth  remained  in  such  darkness  that  my 
eyes,  dazzled  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  could  not 
penetrate  it.  Having  gone  but  fifty  steps  on  the 
road,  which  was  pale  in  the  darkness,  I  heard  in 
front  of  me  a  terrible  cry,  which  did  not  seem  to 
issue  from  a  human  breast,  a  cry  different  from  all 
the  cries  I  had  heard  before,  and  which  froze  me 
with  horror.  I  ran  in  the  direction  whence  came 
the  shriek  of  mortal  distress.  But  the  darkness 
and  my  fear  made  my  steps  tremble.  Arrived  at 
length  at  the  spot  where  the  carriage  lay  shapeless 
and  magnified  by  the  dark,  I  found  my  good  master 
seated  by  the  edge  of  the  ditch,  doubled  in  two. 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          235 

I  could  not  distinguish  his  face.  I  asked  him 
tremblingly : 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Why  did  you 
cry  out?" 

"Yes — why  did  I  cry  out?"  said  he  in  a  changed 
voice,  a  voice  new  to  me.  "I  did  not  know  that 
I  cried  out.  Tournebroche,  have  you  not  seen  a 
man?  He  knocked  against  me  rather  roughly  in 
the  dark.  He  gave  me  a  blow  with  his  fist." 

"Come,  my  good  master,  raise  yourself,"  I  said. 

Having  raised  himself  up,  he  fell  back  heavily 
to  earth. 

I  struggled  to  lift  him  up,  and  my  hands  were 
wet  as  I  touched  his  breast. 

"You  are  bleeding!" 

"I  am  bleeding?  I  am  a  dead  man.  He  has 
murdered  me.  I  thought  at  first  it  was  but  a  very 
rough  blow.  But  it  is  a  wound  of  which  I  feel  I 
shall  never  recover." 

"Who  has  struck  you,  my  good  master?" 

"It  was  the  Jew.  I  did  not  see  him,  but  I  know 
it  was  he.  How  do  I  know  it  was  he  when  I  never 
saw  him?  Yes,  how  comes  that?  What  strange 
happenings!  It  is  unbelievable,  is  it  not,  Tourne- 
broche? I  have  the  taste  of  death  in  my  mouth 
which  cannot  be  defined.  ...  It  had  to  be,  my 
God!  But  why  here  rather  than  there?  There 
lies  the  mystery!  Adjutorium  nostrum  in  nomine 
Domini.  .  .  .  Domine,  exaudi  orationem  meam.  .  .  ." 

He  prayed  for  some  time  in  a  low  voice,  and 
then  he  said: 

"Tournebroche,  my  son,  take  the  two  bottles 
which  I  drew  from  out  the  slings  and  put  opposite. 
I  can  do  no  more.  Tournebroche,  where  do  you 


236  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

think  the  wound  is?  It  is  in  the  back  I  suffer  the 
most,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  my  life  is  ebbing 
from  my  limbs.  My  mind  is  going." 

Murmuring  these  words  he  quietly  fainted  away 
in  my  arms.  I  tried  to  lift  him  up,  but  I  had  but 
the  strength  to  lay  him  down  on  the  road.  His 
shirt  open,  I  found  the  wound;  it  was  in  the  chest, 
small  and  bleeding  but  little.  I  tore  up  my  ruffles 
and  applied  the  strips  to  the  wound.  I  called  out; 
I  cried  for  help.  Soon  I  thought  I  heard  them 
coming  to  my  assistance  from  the  direction  of 
Tournus,  and  I  recognised  Monsieur  d'Astarac. 
So  unexpected  was  this  meeting  I  was  not  even  sur- 
prised at  it,  overwhelmed  as  I  was  by  the  grief  of 
thus  holding  the  best  of  masters  dying  in  my  arms. 

"What  means  this,  my  son?"  demanded  the  al- 
chemist. 

"Come  to  my  help,  Monsieur,"  I  replied,  "1'Abbe 
Coignard  is  dying.  Mosai'de  has  murdered  him." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "that  Mo- 
sai'de came  here  in  an  old  caleche  in  pursuit  of  his 
niece,  and  I  accompanied  him  to  exhort  you,  my 
son,  to  resume  your  work  in  my  house.  Since  yes- 
terday we  have  pressed  close  upon  your  berline, 
that  we  saw  a  short  time  ago  go  to  pieces  in  a  ditch. 
At  that  moment  Mosai'de  got  out  of  the  carriage, 
and,  whether  he  went  for  a  walk  or  whether,  what 
is  more  likely  still,  he  made  himself  invisible,  as  he 
has  the  power  to  do,  I  have  not  seen  him  since.  It 
is  possible  he  has  already  shown  himself  to  his  niece 
to  curse  her;  for  such  was  his  design.  But  he  has 
not  murdered  Abbe  Coignard.  It  is  the  Elves,  my 
son,  who  have  killed  your  master,  to  punish  him  for 
having  revealed  their  secrets.  Nothing  is  more 
certain." 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          237 

"Ah!  Monsieur,"  I  exclaimed,  "what  matters 
whether  it  be  the  Jew  or  the  Elves;  we  must  suc- 
cour him." 

"My  son,  on  the  contrary,  it  matters  very  much," 
replied  Monsieur  d'Astarac;  "for  if  he  had  been 
struck  by  a  human  hand  it  would  be  very  easy  for 
me  to  heal  him  by  a  magical  operation;  but  whereas 
he  has  drawn  on  himself  the  enmity  of  the  Elves  he 
cannot  escape  their  infallible  vengeance." 

As  he  spoke  these  last  words,  Monsieur  d'Anque- 
til  and  Jael,  drawn  by  my  cries,  came  up  with  the 
postilion  bearing  a  lantern. 

"What!"  said  Jael,  "is  Monsieur  Coignard  ill?" 

And  kneeling  down  by  my  good  master's  side, 
she  raised  his  head  and  made  him  inhale  her  salts. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  "you  are  the  cause  of 
his  undoing.  His  death  is  the  vengeance  for  your 
elopement.  It  is  MosaTde  who  has  killed  him." 

She  lifted  her  face  over  my  good  master,  pale 
with  horror  and  glistening  with  tears. 

"Do  you  suppose,  then,  it  is  so  easy  to  be  a  pretty 
girl  without  causing  unhappiness?"  she  asked. 

"Alas!"  I  replied,  "what  you  say  is  only  too  true. 
But  we  have  lost  the  best  of  men." 

At  this  moment  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  gave 
a  deep  sigh,  turned  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  asked 
for  his  copy  of  Boethius,  and  fell  unconscious  again. 

The  postilion  was  of  opinion  we  should  bear  the 
wounded  man  to  the  village  of  Vallars,  situated 
half  a  league  away  on  the  hill. 

"I  will  fetch  the  quietest  of  the  three  horses 
which  remain  to  us,"  said  he.  "We  will  fasten  the 
poor  man  safely  on,  and  take  him  at  a  slow  pace. 
I  think  he  is  very  ill.  He  has  just  the  look  of  a 
courier  who  was  assassinated  on  St.  Michael's  Day, 


238  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

on  the  road  four  posts  from  here,  near  Senecy, 
where  my  intended  lives.  The  poor  devil  blinked 
his  eyelids  and  turned  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes  like 
a  whore,  with  all  respect  to  you,  Messieurs.  And 
your  Abbe  did  likewise  when  Mademoiselle  tickled 
his  nose  with  the  salts.  It  is  a  bad  sign  for  the 
wounded;  as  to  the  girls,  they  do  not  die  for  turn- 
ing up  their  eyes  in  such  fashion.  Your  lordships 
know  that  well.  And  it  is  a  far  cry  the  Lord  be 
praised  from  the  thrills  of  love  to  the  rigors  of 
death.  But  it  is  the  same  turn  of  the  eye. 
Stay  here,  Messieurs,  I  will  go  and  fetch  the 
horse." 

"The  rustic  is  amusing,"  said  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil,  "with  his  turned-up  eyes  and  his  die-away 
lady.  In  Italy  I  have  seen  soldiers  die  with  a  fixed 
stare  and  their  eyes  starting  out  of  their  head. 
There  is  no  law  about  dying  of  a  wound,  even 
among  soldiers,  where  exactitude  is  pushed  as  far 
as  it  will  go.  But  have  the  goodness,  Tourne- 
broche,  in  default  of  some  one  better  qualified  to 
present  me  to  this  black-clad  gentleman  who  wears 
diamond  buttons  on  his  coat  and  whom  I  divine  to 
be  Monsieur  d'Astarac." 

"Ah!  Monsieur,"  I  replied,  "take  it  as  done. 
I  have  no  care  for  anything  but  to  help  my  good 
master." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil. 

And  approaching  Monsieur  d'Astarac  he  said: 

"Monsieur,  I  have  taken  your  mistress  from  you. 
I  am  ready  to  give  you  satisfaction." 

"Monsieur,"  replied  Monsieur  d'Astarac,  "thanks 
be  to  Heaven,  I  have  no  connection  with  any 
woman,  and  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  speak- 
ing thus." 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          239 

At  this  moment  the  postilion  returned  with  a 
horse.  My  good  master  had  regained  conscious- 
ness a  little.  We  all  four  raised  him  up,  and  with 
great  difficulty  we  succeeded  in  placing  him  on  the 
horse,  on  which  we  fastened  him.  Then  we  set 
out.  I  sustained  him  on  one  side,  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil  on  the  other.  The  postilion  held  the  bridle 
and  carried  the  lantern.  Jael  followed  us  crying. 
Monsieur  d'Astarac  had  regained  his  caleche.  We 
advanced  carefully.  All  went  well  while  we  kept  to 
the  road.  But  when  we  had  to  climb  the  steep  path 
between  the  vines,  my  good  master,  slipping  with 
every  movement  of  the  horse,  lost  the  small  amount 
of  strength  remaining  to  him  and  fainted  away  once 
more.  We  judged  it  expedient  to  take  him  off  his 
horse  and  to  carry  him  in  our  arms.  The  postilion 
held  him  by  the  arm-pits  and  I  carried  his  feet. 
The  ascent  was  steep,  and  I  thought  several  times 
I  should  sink  down  under  my  living  cross  on  the 
stones  of  the  path.  At  length  the  hill  became  eas- 
ier. We  threaded  our  way  through  a  little  path 
bordered  with  hedges,  which  twisted  up  the  hill- 
side, and  soon  we  perceived  on  our  left  the  first 
roofs  of  Vallars.  At  the  sight  we  put  down  our 
dismal  burden  and  stopped  a  moment  to  take 
breath.  Then  taking  up  our  load  again  we  pushed 
on  as  far  as  the  village. 

A  rosy  light  showed  in  the  east  above  the  hori- 
zon. The  morning  star  in  the  paling  heavens 
shone  as  white  and  peaceful  as  the  moon,  whose 
slim  crescent  paled  in  the  west.  The  birds  began 
to  sing:  my  good  master  heaved  a  sigh. 

Jael  ran  before  us,  knocking  at  the  doors  in  quest 
of  a  bed  and  a  surgeon.  Laden  with  baskets  and 
hampers  the  vine-growers  were  going  to  the  vin- 


24o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

tage.  One  of  them  told  Jael  that  Gaulard  in  the 
square  had  lodging  for  travellers  whether  on  horse 
or  on  foot. 

"As  to  the  surgeon,  Coquebert,"  he  added, 
"you  see  him  over  there  under  the  barber's  basin 
which  serves  him  as  a  sign.  He  is  leaving  his 
house  to  go  to  his  vineyard." 

He  was  a  little  man,  very  civil.  He  told  us 
that  since  his  daughter  had  married  a  short  time 
ago  he  had  a  bed  in  his  house  which  would  take  the 
wounded  man. 

At  his  command,  his  wife,  a  fat  woman  with  a 
white  cap  surmounted  by  a  felt  hat,  put  sheets  on 
the  bed  in  the  ground  floor  room.  She  helped  us 
to  undress  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  and  to  put 
him  to  bed.  Then  she  went  off  to  find  the  priest. 

Meanwhile  Monsieur  Coquebert  examined  the 
wound. 

"You  see,"  said  I,  "it  is  but  small  and  bleeds 
only  a  little." 

"That  is  not  a  good  sign  and  does  not  please  me 
at  all,  my  young  Monsieur — I  like  a  big  wound  that 
bleeds."  ' 

"I  see  that  for  a  saw-bones  and  a  village  barber 
you  have  not  bad  taste,"  said  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
"nothing  is  worse  than  these  small  deep  wounds 
which  look  like  mere  nothings.  Talk  to  me  of  a 
fine  gash  in  the  face.  That  is  pleasant  to  look  at 
and  heals  immediately.  But  you  must  know,  my 
good  fellow,  that  this  wounded  man  is  my  chaplain 
and  my  partner  at  piquet.  Are  you  man  enough 
to  put  him  on  his  feet  again,  in  spite  of  your  face, 
which  is  rather  that  of  a  purge-giver?" 

"At  your   service,"   replied  the   surgeon-barber, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  241 

bowing.  "But  I  also  set  broken  bones  and  I  dress 
wounds.  I  will  examine  this  one." 

"Be  quick  about  it,  Monsieur,"  said  I. 

"Patience,"  said  he.  "First  we  must  wash  it, 
and  I  am  waiting  till  the  water  is  hot  in  the 
kettle." 

My  good  master,  who  had  revived  a  little,  said 
slowly  in  quite  a  strong  voice: 

"Lamp  in  hand  he  will  visit  all  the  corners  of 
Jerusalem,  and  that  which  was  hidden  in  darkness 
shall  be  brought  forth  to  daylight." 

"What  are  you  saying,  my  good  master?" 

"Leave  me  alone,  my  son,"  he  replied,  "I  am 
occupied  with  thoughts  suitable  to  my  condition." 

"The  water  is  hot,"  said  the  barber.  "Hold 
this  basin  close  to  the  bed.  I  am  going  to  wash 
the  wound." 

While  he  was  passing  a  sponge  filled  with  warm 
water  over  my  good  master's  chest,  the  priest  en- 
tered the  room  with  Madame  Coquebert.  He  held 
in  his  hand  a  basket  and  some  scissors. 

"Here  is  the  poor  man,  then,"  said  he,  "I  was 
going  to  my  vines,  but  one  must  tend  those  of 
Jesus  Christ  first  of  all.  My  son,"  he  added,  draw- 
ing near  him,  "offer  up  your  affliction  to  Our  Sav- 
iour. May  be  it  is  not  so  serious  as  you  think. 
After  all,  we  must  comply  with  the  Will  of  God." 

Then  turning  to  the  barber  he  asked : 

"Monsieur  Coquebert,  is  it  a  very  urgent  case, 
and  can  I  go  to  my  vineyard?  The  white  grapes 
can  wait,  it  does  no  harm  if  they  are  over-ripe,  and 
even  a  little  rain  will  but  render  the  wine  better  and 
more  abundant.  But  the  red  should  be  picked  im- 
mediately." 


242  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"You  say  true,  Monsieur  le  cure,"  replied  Co- 
quebert,  "I  have  grapes  in  my  vineyard  which  are 
all  covered  with  mildew  and  which  have  escaped 
the  heat  of  the  sun  only  to  perish  in  the  rain." 

"Alas!"  said  the  cure,  "damp  and  dryness  are 
the  vinegrower's  two  enemies." 

"Nothing  is  truer,"  said  the  barber,  "but  I  must 
probe  the  wound."  So  saying  he  put  his  finger 
forcibly  in  the  place. 

"Ah!  Executioner!"  exclaimed  the  patient. 

"Remember,"  said  the  cure,  "that  the  Saviour 
forgave  His  executioners." 

"They  were  not  barbers,"  said  the  Abbe. 

"That  is  wickedly  said,"  said  the  cure. 

"You  must  not  chide  a  dying  man  for  his  pleas- 
antries," said  my  good  master.  "But  I  suffer 
cruelly,  this  man  has  murdered  me  and  I  die  a  sec- 
ond time.  First  it  was  at  the  hands  of  a  Jew." 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  the  cure. 

"The  best  thing,  Monsieur  le  cure,  is  not  to 
trouble  oneself,"  said  the  barber.  "One  should 
never  wish  to  understand  the  speeches  of  the  sick. 
They  are  but  ravings." 

"Coquebert,"  said  the  cure,  "you  do  not  speak 
rightly.  One  must  listen  to  the  sick  in  confession, 
and  some  Christian  who  has  said  nothing  good  in 
his  life  may  finish  by  pronouncing  the  words  which 
shall  open  Paradise  to  him." 

"I  only  speak  of  things  temporal,"  said  the 
barber. 

"Monsieur  le  cure,"  said  I  in  my  turn,  "my  good 
master,  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard,  is  not  delirious, 
and  it  is  only  too  true  that  he  has  been  assassinated 
by  a  Jew  named  Mosai'de." 

"In  that  case,"  replied  the  cure,  "he  should  see 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          243 

God's  special  favour  therein  Who  willed  that  he 
should  perish  by  the  hand  of  a  descendant  of  those 
who  crucified  His  Son.  The  ways  of  Providence 
in  this  world  are  always  admirable.  Monsieur  Co- 
quebert,  may  I  go  to  my  vineyard?" 

"You  may  go,  Monsieur  le  cure,"  replied  the  bar- 
ber. "The  wound  is  no  light  one,  but  it  is  not  the 
kind  of  which  one  dies  at  once.  It  is,  Monsieur 
le  cure,  one  of  those  wounds  which  play  with  the 
sick  person  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse,  and  at  that 
game  we  may  gain  some  time." 

"That  is  well,"  said  Monsieur  le  cure.  "Let  us 
thank  God,  my  son,  for  what  life  He  has  left  you, 
but  it  is  precarious  and  transitory.  One  must  al- 
ways be  ready  to  leave  it." 

My  good  master  gravely  made  reply. 

"Exist  on  this  earth  as  not  existing,  possess  with- 
out possessing,  for  the  image  of  this  world  passes." 

Taking  up  his  basket  and  his  scissors  Monsieur 
le  cure  said: 

"Judging  from  your  speech,  my  son,  rather  than 
from  your  habit  and  your  bands  that  I  see  spread 
on  that  stool,  I  know  that  you  belong  to  the  Church 
and  lead  a  holy  life.  Have  you  taken  holy 
orders?" 

"He  is  a  priest,"  said  I,  "doctor  of  theology  and 
professor  of  eloquence." 

"In  what  diocese?"  asked  the  cure. 

"Of  Seez  in  Normandy,  Suffragan  to  Rouen." 

"A  notable  ecclesiastical  province,"  said  Mon- 
sieur le  cure,  "but  which  yields  much  in  antiquity 
and  celebrity  to  the  diocese  of  Rheims  of  which  I 
am  a  priest." 

And  he  went  out.  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard 
passed  the  day  peacefully.  Jael  wished  to  stay  the 


244  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

night  with  the  sick  man.  Towards  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  I  left  Monsieur  Coquebert's  house 
and  sought  a  lodging  at  the  inn  of  the  worthy  Gau- 
lard.  I  found  Monsieur  d'Astarac  on  the  place, 
and  his  shadow  in  the  moonlight  stretched  nearly 
across  its  whole  expanse.  He  put  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder  as  was  his  habit  and  said  with  his  accus- 
tomed gravity: 

"It  is  time  that  I  re-assured  you,  my  son,  I 
merely  accompanied  Mosaide  for  that  reason.  I 
see  you  have  been  cruelly  tormented  by  goblins. 
These  little  spirits  of  the  earth  have  assailed  you, 
deceived  you  by  all  sorts  of  phantasmagoria,  se- 
duced you  by  a  thousand  lies,  and  finally  driven 
you  to  leave  my  house." 

"Alas,  Monsieur!"  I  replied,  "it  is  true  I  left 
your  roof  with  an  apparent  ingratitude  for  which 
I  ask  your  pardon.  But  I  was  pursued  by  the  po- 
lice-sergeants, not  by  goblins.  And  my  good  mas- 
ter has  been  assassinated.  That  is  no  phantasy." 

"You  may  be  certain  of  it,"  replied  the  great 
man,  "the  unfortunate  Abbe  has  been  mortally 
struck  by  the  Sylphs  whose  secrets  he  has  revealed. 
He  took  from  a  cupboard  some  stones  which  are 
the  handiwork  of  the  Sylphs,  and  which  the  latter 
had  left  in  an  imperfect  state,  differing  greatly  in 
brilliancy  and  pureness  from  the  diamond. 

"It  is  this  greed — and  the  name  of  Alga  indis- 
creetly pronounced  which  has  vexed  them  the  most. 
Now  understand,  my  son,  it  is  impossible  for  phil- 
osophers to  arrest  the  vengeance  of  these  irascible 
people.  I  learnt  by  a  supernatural  channel  and 
also  from  Criton's  report  the  sacrilegious  larceny 
of  Monsieur  Coignard,  who  insolently  plumed  him- 
self on  surprising  the  art  by  which  Salamanders, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          245 

Sylphs  and  Gnomes,  ripen  the  morning  dew-  and  in- 
sensibly transform  it  into  crystal  and  diamond." 

"Alas !  Monsieur,  I  assure  you  he  never  thought 
of  doing  so,  and  that  it  was  that  horrible  Mosaide 
who  struck  him  down  with  a  dagger-thrust  on  the 
road." 

This  speech  extremely  displeased  Monsieur  d'As- 
tarac,  who  invited  me  in  a  manner  not  to  be  denied 
to  talk  no  more  in  such  fashion. 

"MosaTde,"  added  he,  "is  a  good  enough  cabalist 
to  reach  his  enemies  without  running  after  them. 
Know,  my  son,  that  had  he  wished  to  kill  Monsieur 
Coignard,  he  could  have  done  it  easily  in  his  room, 
by  the  operation  of  magic.  I  see  that  you  are  still 
ignorant  of  the  first  elements  of  the  science.  The 
truth  is  that  this  learned  man,  informed  by  the 
faithful  Criton  of  his  niece's  flight,  took  post  to 
regain  her,  and  if  need  be,  to  bring  her  back  to  his 
house.  Which  is  what  he  would  certainly  have 
done,  had  he  but  discerned  in  the  unhappy  being's 
soul  some  gleam  of  repentance  and  regret.  But 
seeing  her  quite  corrupted  and  debauched,  he  pre- 
ferred to  excommunicate  and  curse  her  by  all  the 
Globes,  the  Wheels  and  the  Beasts  of  Ezekiel. 
That  is  precisely  what  he  has  just  done,  before  my 
eyes,  in  the  caleche  where  he  is  quartered  apart, 
so  as  not  to  share  the  bed  and  the  board  of 
Christians." 

I  was  silent,  amazed  at  such  maunderings,  but 
this  extraordinary  man  spoke  with  such  eloquence 
that  it  did  not  leave  me  untroubled. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "will  you  not  allow  yourself  to 
be  enlightened  by  the  advice  of  a  philosopher? 
What  wisdom  can  you  oppose  to  him,  my  son? 
Consider  then,  that  yours  is  less  in  quantity  without 


246  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

differing  in  essence.  To  you,  as  to  me,  nature  ap- 
pears as  an  infinite  multitude  of  images,  which  one 
must  recognise  and  classify  and  which  form  a 
sequence  of  hieroglyphs.  You  easily  distinguish 
many  of  these  signs  to  which  you  attach  a  meaning, 
but  you  are  too  inclined  to  content  yourself  with  a 
vulgar  and  literal  one,  and  do  not  sufficiently  seek 
the  ideal  and  the  symbolical.  Nevertheless,  the 
world  is  only  conceivable  as  a  symbol,  and  all  that 
is  seen  in  the  universe  is  but  pictured  writing,  which 
the  vulgar  among  mankind  spell  out  without  under- 
standing. Beware,  my  son,  of  drawling  and  bray- 
ing in  this  universal  tongue,  like  the  savants  who 
fill  the  academies.  But  rather  receive  at  my  hand 
the  key  of  all  knowledge." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment  and  continued  his 
speech  in  a  more  familiar  tone : 

"You  are  pursued,  my  son,  by  foes  less  terrible 
than  the  Sylphs.  And  your  Salamander  will  have 
no  trouble  in  ridding  you  of  the  goblins  as  soon  as 
you  ask  her  to  do  so.  I  repeat,  that  I  only  came 
here  with  Mosai'de  to  give  you  this  good  advice  and 
to  press  you  to  return  to  me  and  continue  your 
work.  I  understand  that  you  wish  to  be  with  your 
good  master  until  the  end.  I  give  you  full  permis- 
sion. But  do  not  fail  to  return  hereafter  to  my 
house.  Farewell !  I  return  to  Paris  this  night  with 
the  great  Mosai'de  whom  you  have  so  unjustly  sus- 
pected." 

I  promised  him  all  he  wished,  and  dragged  my- 
self as  far  as  my  wretched  bed  in  the  inn,  on  which 
I  fell,  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  and  fatigue. 


XIX 

HE  following  day,  at  early  dawn,  I 
returned  to  the  surgeon's  and  there 
I  found  Jael  by  my  good  master's 
bedside,  sitting  up  straight  on  her 
straw-bottomed  chair,  her  head  en- 
veloped in  her  black  mantle,  atten- 
tive, serious,  and  docile  like  a  sister 
of  charity.  Monsieur  Coignard,  very  red  in  the 
face,  was  dozing.  "He  has  not  had  a  good  night," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "He  wandered,  he  sang,  he 
called  me  sister  Germaine,  and  made  advances  to 
me.  I  am  not  offended  at  that,  but  it  shows  how 
upset  he  is." 

"Alas!"  I  explained,  "if  you  had  not  betrayed 
me,  Jael,  and  scoured  the  roads  with  that  fine  gen- 
tleman, my  good  master  would  not  lie  on  this  bed 
with  his  breast  pierced." 

"It  is  just  our  friend's  misfortune,"  she  replied, 
"which  causes  my  consuming  regret.  But  as  for 
the  rest  it  is  not  worth  a  thought  and  1  cannot  con- 
ceive, Jacques,  how  you  can  dwell  on  it  at  such  a 
moment." 

"The  thought  is  always  with  me,"  I  answered. 
"I,"  said  she,  "I  never  think  of  it  at  all.     You 
yourself  provide  more  than  three  fourths  of  your 
unhappiness." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Jael?" 
"I  mean,  my  friend,  that  if  I  supply  the  stuff  you 
apply  the   embroidery,   and  that  your  imagination 
enriches  the  simple  reality  far  too  much.     I  swear 
247 


248  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

to  you  that  at  this  present  hour  I  do  not  myself  re- 
member the  quarter  of  what  causes  you  sorrow, 
and  you  ponder  so  obstinately  on  this  subject  that 
your  rival  is  more  present  to  you  than  even  to  my- 
self. Think  no  more  of  it  and  let  me  give  this  cool- 
ing drink  to  the  Abbe  who  is  just  waking  up." 

At  this  moment  Monsieur  Coquebert  approached 
the  bed  with  his  surgical  case,  dressed  the  wound 
afresh,  and  said  out  loud  that  it  was  well  on  the 
road  to  recovery.  Then  drawing  me  aside  he  said, 

"I  can  assure  you,  Monsieur,  this  good  Abbe  will 
not  die  from  the  blow  he  has  received.  But  truth 
to  tell  I  much  fear  he  will  not  get  over  a  rather  bad 
attack  of  pleurisy  occasioned  by  his  wound.  Just 
now  he  is  in  a  condition  of  high  fever.  But  here 
comes  Monsieur  le  cure." 

My  good  master  recognised  him  quite  well  and 
asked  politely  how  he  did. 

"Better  than  the  vines,"  replied  the  cure.  "For 
they  are  all  spoilt  with  blight  and  maggots  notwith- 
standing that  the  clergy  of  Dijon  held  a  fine  proces- 
sion against  them  this  year,  with  cross  and  banners. 
But  we  must  have  a  finer  one  next  year  and  burn 
more  wax-lights.  It  will  also  be  necessary  for  the 
ecclesiastical  court  to  excommunicate  afresh  the  flies 
which  destroy  the  grapes." 

"Monsieur  le  cure,"  said  my  good  master,  "they 
say  that  you  wanton  with  the  girls  among  the  vines. 
Fie !  That  is  not  fitting  at  your  age.  In  my  youth 
I  was,  like  you,  fond  of  the  sex.  But  years  have 
improved  me,  and  latterly  I  let  a  nun  pass  without 
speaking  to  her.  You  treat  damsels  and  bottles 
in  another  fashion,  Monsieur  le  cure.  But  you  do 
worse  still  in  not  saying  masses  for  which  you  are 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  249 

paid,  and  in  trafficking  in  the  goods  of  the  Church. 
You  are  a  bigamist  and  a  simonist." 

On  hearing  these  words  Monsieur  le  cure  was 
sadly  surprised;  his  mouth  remained  opened,  and 
his  chaps  fell  mournfully  on  either  side  of  his  big 
face. 

"What  an  unworthy  insult  to  the  character  I 
bear!"  he  sighed  at  last,  his  eyes  on  the  ceiling. 
"What  a  way  he  talks  so  near  to  the  judgment- 
seat  of  God.  Oh!  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  is  it  for  you 
to  talk  in  such  fashion,  who  have  led  such  a  holy 
life,  and  have  studied  so  many  books?" 

My  good  master  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 
Fever  gave  him  back,  in  melancholy  and  unnatural 
fashion,  the  jovial  air  we  had  loved  to  see  on  him. 

"It  is  true,"  said  he,  "that  I  have  studied  the  an- 
cient writers.  But  I  am  far  from  being  as  well 
read  as  was  the  second  vicaire  of  my  lord  bishop  of 
Seez.  Although  he  looked  a  donkey,  and  was  one, 
he  was  a  greater  reader  than  I.  For  he  was  cross- 
eyed, and  looking  askew  he  read  two  pages  at  a 
time.  What  do  you  say  to  that,  you  old  rascal  of 
a  cure,  you  old  gallant  who  runs  after  wenches  in 
the  moonlight?  Cure,  your  lady-love  looks  like  a 
witch.  She  has  a  beard  on  her  chin,  she  is  the  sur- 
geon-barber's wife.  He  is  fully  cuckold  and  it 
serves  the  homunculus  right,  whose  whole  medical 
knowledge  reaches  no  further  than  the  giving  of  a 
clyster." 

"Lord  God,  wh?t  is  he  saying?"  exclaimed  Ma- 
dame Coquebert.  "He  must  have  the  devil  in  him." 

*"I  have  heard  many  sick  people  talk  in  delir- 
ium," said  Monsieur  Coquebert,  "but  no  one  of 
them  talked  so  wickedly." 


250  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

"I  perceive,"  continued  the  cure,  "that  we  shall 
have  more  difficulty  than  I  thought  in  bringing  this 
sick  man  to  a  good  end.  He  is  of  a  more  bitter 
humour  and  has  more  impurity  in  his  disposition 
than  I  had  at  first  remarked.  His  speeches  are  un- 
seemly in  an  ecclesiastic  and  a  sick  person." 

"It  is  the  effect  of  the  fever,"  said  the  surgeon- 
barber. 

"But,"  went  on  the  cure,  "this  fever,  if  it  does 
not  go  down  may  lead  him  to  hell.  He  has  very 
seriously  failed  in  what  is  owing  to  a  priest.  I 
shall,  nevertheless,  return  to-morrow  to  exhort  him, 
for  I  owe  him,  by  example  of  Our  Lord,  infinite 
pity.  But  on  this  score  I  feel  a  lively  anxiety.  Ill- 
luck  will  have  it  that  there  is  a  crack  in  my  wine- 
press, and  all  the  workmen  are  in  the  vineyards. 
Coquebert,  do  not  fail  to  speak  a  word  to  the  car- 
penter, and  to  call  me  to  the  sick  man  here  should 
his  condition  become  suddenly  worse.  A  host  of 
cares,  Coquebert!" 

The  next  day  was  such  a  good  one  for  Monsieur 
Coignard  that  we  nursed  the  hope  that  we  might 
yet  keep  him  with  us.  He  took  some  soup  and  sat 
up  in  bed.  He  spoke  to  each  of  us  with  his  usual 
gentleness  and  grace.  Monsieur  d'Anquetil,  who 
was  lodging  at  Gaulard's,  came  to  see  him  and, 
rather  thoughtlessly,  asked  him  to  play  piquet. 
My  good  master  smilingly  promised  to  do  so  the 
following  week.  But  the  fever  took  hold  of  him  at 
nightfall.  Pale,  his  eyes  swimming  in  unutterable 
terror,  shuddering,  and  with  chattering  teeth,  he 
cried : 

"There  he  is,  the  old  Jew!  It  is  the  son  Judas 
Iscariot  fathered  on  a  she-devil  in  the  shape  of  a 
goat.  But  he  shall  be  hanged  on  his  father's  fig- 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          251 

tree,  and  his  entrails  shall  be  shed  on  the  earth. 
Stop  him  ...  he  is  killing  me.  .  .  .  !  I  am 
cold."  A  moment  after,  throwing  back  his  cover- 
ings, he  complained  of  being  too  hot.  "I  am  very 
thirsty,"  said  he,  "give  me  some  wine.  And  let  it 
be  cool.  Madame  Coquebert,  make  haste  to  go 
and  cool  it  in  the  cistern,  for  the  day  promises  to 
be  burning." 

It  was  night  time  but  he  confused  the  hours  in 
his  brain. 

"Be  quick  about  it,"  he  re-iterated,  to  Madame 
Coquebert,  "but  do  not  be  as  simple-minded  as  the 
bellringer  of  Seez  Cathedral,  who,  on  going  to 
draw  the  bottles  from  the  well  where  he  had  put 
them,  perceived  his  reflection  in  the  water  and  be- 
gan crying  out  'Hello!  Messieurs!  Come  to  my 
help  quickly,  for  there  are  antipodeans  down  there 
who  will  drink  our  wine  if  we  do  not  see  to  it.'  " 

"He  is  cheerful,"  said  Madame  Coquebert. 
"But  a  short  time  ago  he  made  very  shocking  accu- 
sations against  me.  Had  I  deceived  Coquebert  it 
would  not  have  been  with  Monsieur  le  cure,  having 
regard  to  his  age  and  position." 

Monsieur  le  cure  came  in  at  that  very  moment. 

"Well,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  said  he  to  my  master, 
"in  what  humour  are  you  to-day?  What  is  there 
new?" 

"Thank  God,"  said  Monsieur  Coignard,  "there 
is  nothing  new  in  my  soul.  For,  as  St.  Chrysostom 
said,  avoid  novelties.  Do  not  adventure  on  paths 
which  are  as  yet  untried;  one  wanders  unendingly 
when  one  begins  to  wander.  I  have  sad  experience 
of  it.  And  I  am  lost  for  having  followed  unbeaten 
tracks.  I  listened  to  my  own  counsel  and  it  led 
me  to  the  pit.  Monsieur  le  cure,  I  am  a  miser- 


252  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

able  sinner;  the  number  of  my  iniquities  oppresses 
me." 

"Those  are  noble  words,"  said  Monsieur  le  cure, 
"it  is  God  Himself  Who  dictates  them  to  you.  I 
recognise  His  inimitable  style.  Are  you  not  de- 
sirous that  we  should  join  in  furthering  the  salva- 
tion of  your  soul  a  little?" 

"Willingly"  said  Monsieur  Coignard,  "for  my 
impurities  rise  up  against  me.  I  see  both  great  and 
small  rear  themselves  before  me.  I  see  some  that 
are  red  and  some  that  are  black.  I  see  some  of 
the  very  basest  astride  of  dogs  and  pigs,  and  I  see 
others  that  are  fat  and  stark  naked,  with  teats  like 
leather  bottles,  and  stomachs  falling  in  big  folds, 
and  enormous  buttocks." 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Monsieur  le  cure,  "that  you 
should  have  so  distinct  a  sight  of  them?  But  if 
your  faults  are  such  as  you  say,  my  son,  it  were 
better  not  to  describe  them,  and  to  limit  yourself  to 
detesting  them  inwardly." 

"Would  you  have  my  sins  fashioned  like  Adonis, 
Monsieur  le  cure?"  said  the  Abbe.  "But  enough 
of  that.  And  you,  barber,  give  me  to  drink.  Do 
you  know  Monsieur  de  la  Musardiere?" 

"Not  that  I  am  aware,"  said  Monsieur  Coque- 
bert. 

"Learn  then  that  he  was  very  fond  of  women," 
said  my  good  master. 

"It  is  thereby,"  said  the  cure,  "that  the  devil 
takes  great  advantage  of  man.  But  what  do  you 
want  to  arrive  at,  my  son?" 

"You  will  soon  see,"  said  my  good  master. 
"Monsieur  de  la  Musardiere  gave  tryst  to  a  maiden 
in  a  stable.  She  went,  and  he  let  her  go  as  she 
came.  Do  you  know  why?" 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  253 

''I  am  ignorant,"  said  the  cure.  "But  enough  of 
that." 

"Not  so,"  continued  Monsieur  Coignard. 
"Know  then  that  he  took  care  to  have  no  connec- 
tion with  her  for  fear  of  engendering  a  horse,  for 
which  he  would  have  been  criminally  prosecuted." 

uAh!"  said  the  barber,  "he  might  rather  have 
feared  to  father  a  donkey." 

"Without  doubt,"  said  the  cure,  "but  that  does 
not  help  us  on  our  way  to  Paradise.  It  befits  us  to 
take  up  the  good  road  again.  A  short  time  since 
you  gave  us  such  edifying  words." 

Instead  of  replying  my  good  master  began  to  sing 
in  quite  a  strong  voice : 

•  To  put  King  Louis  in  good  fettle 

They  sent  for  a  dozen  lads  of  mettle, 

Landerinette. 

Who  led  a  jovial  life  and  free, 
Landeriri. 

"If  you  want  to  sing,  my  son,"  said  Monsieur 
le  cure,  "sing  rather  some  beautiful  Burgundian 
carol.  You  will  gladden  your  soul  while  you  sanc- 
tify it." 

"Willingly,"  answered  my  good  master.  "There 
are  some  by  Guy  Barozai  which  I  hold,  in  their 
apparent  rusticity,  as  finer  than  the  diamond  and 
more  precious  than  gold.  This  one,  for  instance: 

Then  when  the  time  did  befall 
That  Jesus  Christ  came  on  to  earth, 
The  ox  and  ass  with  their  breath 
Kept  him  warm  in  the  stall. 
How  many  an  ox  and  an  ass 
I  know  in  the  kingdom  of  Gaul, 


254  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

How  many  an  ox  and  an  ass 

Would  have  grudged  him  that  little,   alas! 

The  surgeon,  his  wife,  and  the  cure  took  up 
together : 

How  many  an  ox  and  an  ass 
I  know  in  the  kingdom  of  Gaul, 
How  many  an  ox  and  an  ass 
Would    grudge    him    that    little,    alas! 

And  my  good  master  went  on  in  more  feeble 
voice : 

But  the  part  of  the  tale  I  like  best, 
Is  that  the  ox  and  the  ass 
Both  of  them  let  the  night  pass 
Without  food  or  water  or  rest. 
How  many  an  ox  and  an  ass 
In  stuff,  or  in  silken  vest, 
How  many  an  ox  and  an  ass 
Would    grudge    him    that    little,    alas! 

Then  he  let  his  head  fall  back  on  the  pillow  and 
sang  no  more. 

"There  is  good  in  this  Christian,"  said  Monsieur 
le  cure.  "Much  good,  and  just  now  again  he  edi- 
fied even  me  by  his  beautiful  words.  But  he  still 
causes  me  anxiety,  for  all  hangs  on  the  end;  and  one 
does  not  know  what  may  remain  at  the  bottom  of 
the  basket.  God  in  His  goodness  wills  that  a 
single  moment  should  save  us;  furthermore,  this 
moment  must  be  the  last;  so  that  everything  de- 
pends on  a  single  minute,  by  the  side  of  which  the 
rest  of  our  life  is  as  nothing.  This  is  what  makes 
me  tremble  for  this  sick  man  for  whom  the  angels 
and  the  devils  are  fighting  so  furiously.  But  one 
must  not  despair  of  the  divine  mercy." 


XX 

WO  days  passed  in  cruel  alternations. 
Thereafter  my  good  master  fell  into 
a  state  of  extreme  weakness. 

"There  is  no  longer  any  hope," 
Monsieur  Coquebert  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "look  how  his  head  is  sunk 
into  the  pillow  and  notice  how  sharp 
his  nose  has  become." 

Indeed,  my  good  master's  nose,  formerly  big  and 
red,  offered  no  more  than  a  curved  edge  as  livid  as 
lead. 

"Tournebroche,  my  son,"  said  he,  in  a  voice 
which  was  still  full  and  strong,  but  with  a  note  in 
it  I  had  not  heard  before,  "I  feel  that  I  have  but 
a  short  time  to  live.  Go  and  find  that  good  priest 
that  he  may  hear  my  confession." 

Monsieur  le  cure  was  in  his  vineyard,  whither 
I  ran. 

"The  vintage  is  done,"  he  told  me,  "and  a  more 
abundant  one  than  I  hoped;  let  us  go  and  assist 
the  poor  man." 

I  took  him  back  to  the  bedside  of  my  good  master 
and  we  left  him  alone  with  the  dying  man. 
He  came  out  after  an  hour  and  said  to  us : 
"I  can  assure  you  that  Monsieur  Jerome  Coig- 
nard  is  dying  in  admirable  sentiments  of  piety  and 
humility.     At  his  request,  and  in  consideration  of 
his  fervour,  I  am  about  to  give  him  the  holy  viati- 
cum.    While  I  put  on  my  alb  and  stole  have  the 
goodness,   Madame   Coquebert,   to   send  the  child 
who  serves  low  mass  for  me  every  day,  to  the  sac- 
255 


256  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

risty,  and  prepare  the  room  to  receive  the  blessed 
sacrament." 

Madame  Coquebert  swept  the  chamber,  put  a 
white  coverlet  on  the  bed,  placed  at  the  bed-head 
a  small  table  which  she  covered  with  a  cloth,  put 
two  candlesticks  with  lighted  candles  upon  it,  and 
a  china  bowl  where  a  sprig  of  box  lay  steeped  in 
the  holy  water. 

Soon  we  heard  the  bell  being  rung  in  the  road  by 
the  server,  and  we  saw  the  cross  appear,  held  up  by 
a  child,  and  the  priest  clad  in  white  and  bearing 
the  sacred  elements.  Jael,  Monsieur  d'Anquetil, 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Coquebert,  and  I,  fell  on 
our  knees. 

"Pax  huic  domui"  said  the  priest. 

"Et  omnibus  habit antibus,"  answered  the  server. 

Then  Monsieur  le  cure  took  the  holy  water  with 
which  he  sprinkled  the  sick  man  and  the  bed. 

He  remained  in  meditation  for  a  moment  and 
then  said: 

"My  son,  have  you  no  declaration  to  make?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur,"  said  Abbe  Coignard  in  a  firm 
voice.  "I  forgive  my  assassin." 

Then  the  celebrant,  drawing  the  host  from  the 
ciborium,  said: 

"Ecce  agnus  Dei,  qui  tollit  peccata  mundi." 

My  good  master  answered,  sighing : 

"Shall  I  speak  with  My  Lord,  I  who  am  but  dust 
and  ashes?  How  shall  I  venture  to  approach 
Thee,  I  who  feel  that  no  good  exists  in  me  that 
can  give  me  courage?  How  can  I  receive  Thee 
into  my  house  after  having  so  often  offended  Thine 
eyes  filled  with  loving-kindness?" 

And  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  received  the  holy 
viaticum  in  a  profound  silence,  rent  by  our  sobs 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  257 

and  by  the  loud  noise  made  by  Madame  Coque- 
bert  in  blowing  her  nose. 

After  the  administration  my  good  master  made  a 
sign  to  me  to  draw  near  his  bed,  and  said  in  a  voice 
weak  but  distinct: 

"Jacques  Tournebroche,  my  son,  reject,  along 
with  the  example  I  gave  you,  the  maxims  I  may 
.have  proposed  to  you  during  my  period  of  folly, 
which  alas!  has  lasted  as  long  as  my  life.  Fear 
women  and  books  for  the  enervation  and  the  pride 
one  gains  from  them.  Be  humble  in  heart  and  mind. 
God  grants  a  dearer  intelligence  to  the  simple- 
minded  than  the  learned  can  ever  instil.  He  is  the 
Giver  of  all  knowledge,  my  son.  Do  not  listen  to 
those  who,  like  myself,  subtilise  over  good  and  evil. 
Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  touched  by  the  beauty 
and  the  finesse  of  their  talk.  For  the  kingdom  of 
God  lies  not  in  words  but  in  virtue." 

He  lay  silent,  exhausted.  I  seized  his  hand  lying 
on  the  sheet  and  covered  it  with  my  tears  and  kisses. 
I  told  him  he  was  our  master,  our  friend,  our  fa- 
ther, and  that  I  should  not  know  how  to  live  with- 
out him. 

And  I  remained  for  a  long  time  sunk  in  sorrow 
at  the  foot  of  his  bed. 

He  passed  such  a  peaceful  night  that  I  conceived 
a  sort  of  despairing  hope.  This  condition  lasted 
all  through  the  day  that  followed.  But  towards 
evening  he  became  restless  and  murmured  such  in- 
distinct words  that  they  must  forever  remain  a  se- 
cret between  God  and  himself. 

At  midnight  he  sank  once  more  into  deep  pros- 
tration, and  we  only  heard  the  light  sound  of  his 
nails  plucking  at  the  sheets.  He  knew  us  no 
longer. 


258  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

Towards  two  o'clock  the  death-rattle  began;  the 
hoarse,  hurried  breath  that  issued  from  his  chest 
was  loud  enough  to  be  heard  far  off  in  the  village 
street,  and  my  ears  were  so  filled  with  it  that  I 
thought  I  could  hear  it  for  days  following  that 
wretched  night.  At  dawn  he  made  a  sign  with  his 
hand  which  we  could  not  understand,  and  gave  a 
deep  sigh.  It  was  the  last.  His  countenance  as- 
sumed in  death  a  majesty  worthy  of  the  genius 
which  had  animated  it  and  whose  loss  will  never  be 
repaired. 


XXI 

ONSIEUR  LE  CURfe  of  Vallars 
gave  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard 
solemn  burial.  He  sang  the  funeral 
mass  and  gave  absolution.  My 
good  master  was  borne  to  the  ceme- 
tery attached  to  the  church.  And 
Monsieur  d'Anquetil  gave  a  supper 
at  Gaulard's  to  all  the  people  who  had  assisted  at 
the  ceremony.  They  drank  new  wine  and  sang 
songs  of  Burgundy. 

The  following  day  I  went  with  Monsieur  d'An- 
quetil to  thank  Monsieur  le  cure  for  his  pious  care. 
"Ah,"  said  the  holy  man,  "this  priest  has  given 
us  great  consolation  by  his  edifying  end.  I  have 
seen  few  Christians  die  in  such  admirable  senti- 
ments, and  the  memory  of  them  should  be  pre- 
served on  his  tomb  in  a  fine  inscription.  You  are 
both  of  you  clever  enough  to  do  this  successfully, 
and  I  will  see  to  it  that  the  epitaph  of  the  defunct 
is  engraved  on  a  large  white  stone  in  the  fashion 
and  order  in  which  you  shall  compose  it.  But  bear 
in  mind,  in  thus  making  the  stone  speak,  that  it  pro- 
claim but  the  praises  of  God." 

I  begged  him  to  believe  that  I  would  bring  all 
my  zeal  to  bear  on  it,  and  Monsieur  d'Anquetil 
promised  on  his  part  to  give  it  a  gallant  and  grace- 
ful turn. 

"I  will  try  my  hand,"  said  he,  "at  French  verse, 
modelled  on  those  of  Monsieur  Chapelle." 

"Well  and  good,"  said  Monsieur  le  cure.      "But 
are  you  not  curious  to  see  my  wine-press?     The 
259 


26o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

wine  will  be  excellent  this  year  and  I  have  gathered 
enough  for  my  use  and  for  that  of  my  servant. 
Alas!  were  it  not  for  the  blight  we  should  have 
had  far  more." 

After  supper  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  asked  for  the 
inkstand  and  began  to  compose  French  verses. 
Then,  impatiently,  he  flung  pen,  ink,  and  paper 
away  from  him. 

"Tournebroche,"  said  he,  "I  have  only  written 
two  lines  and  I  am  not  certain  if  even  those  are 
good;  here  they  are  such  as  they  have  come  to  me: 

"Monsieur  Coignard  here  doth  lie, 
Soon  or  late  we  all  must  die." 

I  answered  that  they  had  this  much  good  in  them 
that  they  needed  no  third. 

And  I  spent  the  night  in  turning  a  Latin  epitaph 
in  the  following  manner: 

D.O.M. 

HIC  JACET 

in  spe  beatae  aeternitatis 

DOMINUS  HIERONYMUS  COIGNARD 

presbyter 

quondam  in  Bellovacensi  collegio 

eloquentiae  magister  eloquentissimus 

Sagiensis  episcopi  bibliothecarius  solertissimus 

Zozimi  Panopolitani  ingeniosissimus 

translator 

opere  tamen  immaturata  morte  intercepto 
periit  enim  cum  Lugdunum  peteret 

judea  manu  nefandissima 

id  est  a  nepote  Christi  carnificum 

in  via  trucidatus 

anno  aet.  Hi. 
comitate  fuit  optima  doctissimo  convitu 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  261 

ingenio  sublimi 
facetiis  jucundus  sententiis  plenus 

donorum  Dei  laudator 
fide  devotissima  per  multas  tempestates 

constanter  munitus 
humilitate  sanctissima  ornatus 

saluti  suae  magis  intentus 

quam  vano  et  fallaci  hominum  judicio 

sic  honoribus  mundanis 

nunquam  quaesitis 

sibi  gloriam  sempiternam 

meruit. 

Which  means 

HERE  LIES 

in  hope  of  blissful  eternity 
MESSIRE  JEROME     COIGNARD 

priest 
formerly  eloquent  professor  of  eloquence 

in  the  college  of  Beauvais 
most  zealous  librarian  to  the  bishop 

of  Seez 
author  of  a  fine  translation  from  Zozimus 

the  Panipolitan 

which  unhappily  he  left  unfinished 

when  overtaken  by  premature  death. 

He  was  struck  down  on  the  Lyons  road 

in  the  52nd  year  of  his  age 
by  the  scoundrelly  hand  of  a  Jew 

and  thus  perished  a  victim  to  a  descendant  of  the  execution- 
ers of  Jesus  Christ. 
He  was  agreeable  in  intercourse 
learned  in  conversation 
and  of  a  lofty  genius 
flowing  with  joyful  talk  and  admirable  precepts 

and  praised  God  in  his  works. 
Through  the  tempest  of  life  he  kept 


262  THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE 

an  unshaken  faith 

more  careful  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul 

than  for  the  empty  and  deceitful  goodwill  of  mankind 

it  was  while  living  without  honours 

in  this  world 
that  he  directed  his  path  to  eternal  glory. 


XXII 

HREE  days  after  my  good  master 
had  rendered  up  his  soul  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil  decided  to  set  off  once 
more.  The  carriage  was  mended. 
He  gave  orders  to  the  postilions  to 
be  ready  for  the  following  morn- 
ing. His  society  had  never  been 
pleasing  to  me.  In  the  sad  mood  I  was  in  it  had 
become  odious.  I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  fol- 
lowing him  with  Jael.  I  resolved  to  seek  employ- 
ment at  Tournus  or  Macon  and  to  live  there  hidden 
until  the  storm  having  abated,  it  would  be  possible 
for  me  to  return  to  Paris  where  I  knew  my  parents 
would  receive  me  with  open  arms.  I  made  known 
this  plan  to  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  and  excused  my- 
self for  not  accompanying  him  further.  He  ex- 
erted himself  at  first  to  keep  me  with  a  good  grace 
which  he  had  not  led  me  to  expect,  then  he  willingly 
gave  me  my  leave.  Jael  was  more  regretful  over 
it,  but  being  naturally  sensible  she  understood  the 
reasons  I  had  for  leaving  her. 

The  night  preceding  my  departure,  while  Mon- 
sieur d'Anquetil  drank  and  played  cards  with  the 
surgeon-barber,  we  went  out  on  to  the  market-place, 
Jael  and  I,  to  breathe  the  air.  It  was  scented  with 
grasses  and  filled  with  the  song  of  crickets. 

"What  a  beautiful  night,"  I  said  to  Jael, 
"the  year  will  bring  no  more  like  it,  and  perhaps 
in  all  my  life  I  shall  never  again  see  one  so 
sweet." 

263 


264  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

Before  us  the  village  cemetery,  flower-filled, 
spread  its  immobile  waves  of  grass,  and  the  moon- 
light whitened  the  scattered  grave  stones  on  the 
dark  herbage.  The  thought  came  to  us  both  at  the 
same  time  to  go  and  say  good-bye  to  our  friend. 
The  spot  where  he  reposed  was  marked  by  a  cross 
sprinkled  with  pictured  tears,  whose  foot  sank  in 
the  soft  earth.  The  stone  on  which  the  epitaph  was 
to  be  inscribed  was  not  put  up  yet.  We  sat  down 
near  by,  on  the  grass  and  there,  from  unconscious 
and  natural  inclination,  we  fell  into  one  another's 
arms,  without  fear  of  offending  with  our  kisses  the 
memory  of  a  friend  whose  profound  wisdom  ren- 
dered him  indulgent  to  human  weaknesses. 

All  at  once  Jael  whispered  in  my  ear,  where  for 
the  moment  her  lips  happened  to  be: 

"I  see  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  on  the  cemetery  wall, 
and  he  is  looking  keenly  in  our  direction." 

"Can  he  see  us  in  the  shadow?"  I  asked. 

"He  can  certainly  see  my  white  skirts,"  she  re- 
plied. "It  is  quite  enough  to  make  him  want  to 
see  more." 

I  was  already  thinking  of  drawing  my  sword  and 
I  was  quite  decided  to  defend  two  existences  which 
at  the  moment  were  indeed  all  but  one.  Jael's 
calm  astonished  me;  nothing  in  her  gestures  or  her 
voice  betrayed  fear. 

"Go,"  said  she,  "fly,  have  no  fear  for  me.  It  is 
a  surprise  which  I  have  more  or  less  desired.  He 
was  beginning  to  tire,  and  this  is  excellent  for  re- 
awakening his  taste  and  adding  a  spice  to  his  love. 
Go,  and  leave  me.  The  first  few  moments  will  be 
hard  to  bear  for  he  is  of  a  passionate  disposition. 
He  will  beat  me  but  I  shall  only  be  dearer  to  him 
afterwards.  Farewell." 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  265 

"Alas,"  I  exclaimed  "did  you  but  take  me,  Jael, 
to  sharpen  the  desire  of  a  rival?" 

"I  am  surprised  that  you  too  wish  to  quarrel 
with  me.  Go,  I  tell  you." 

"What,  and  leave  you  thus?" 

"It  must  be.  Farewell.  He  must  not  find  you 
here.  I  want  to  make  him  jealous,  but  with  dis- 
cretion. Farewell,  farewell." 

I  had  scarcely  taken  a  few  steps  in  the  labyrinth 
of  tombs  when  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  having  come 
near  enough  to  recognise  his  mistress  cried  and 
swore  loud  enough  to  wake  all  these  village  dead. 
I  was  impatient  to  free  Jael  from  his  wrath.  I 
thought  he  would  kill  her.  Already  I  was  gliding 
to  her  rescue  in  the  shadow  of  the  tombs.  But 
after  some  minutes,  while  I  watched  them  carefully, 
I  saw  Monsieur  d'Anquetil  push  her  out  of  the 
cemetery  and  take  her  to  Gaulard's  inn,  with  the 
remains  of  a  fury  she  was  well  capable  of  pacifying 
alone  and  without  help. 

I  regained  my  room  when  they  had  gone  back  to 
theirs.  I  did  not  sleep  that  night,'  and  spying  on 
them  in  the  dawn,  through  the  opening  in  the  cur- 
tains, I  saw  them  cross  the  courtyard  of  the  inn  with 
great  show  of  friendship. 

Jael's  departure  increased  my  sadness.  I  threw 
myself  full-length  in  the  middle  of  my  room,  and, 
my  face  in  my  hands,  wept  till  evening. 


XXIII 

T  this  period  my  life  loses  the  interest 
it  had  borrowed  from  circumstances, 
and  my  destiny,  conforming  once 
more  with  my  character,  offers 
nothing  but  what  is  commonplace. 
If  I  prolonged  my  memoirs  my  nar- 
rative would  soon  appear  insipid. 
I  will  bring  it  to  a  close  in  a  few  words.  Monsieur 
le  cure  of  Vallars  gave  me  a  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion to  a  wine  merchant  in  Macon,  with  whom  I 
found  employment  for  two  months,  at  the  end  of 
which  my  father  wrote  he  had  arranged  my  affairs 
and  that  I  could  return  to  Paris  without  any  dan- 
ger. 

I  immediately  took  the  coach  and  made  the 
journey  with  some  recruits.  My  heart  beat  as  if  it 
would  burst  when  I  saw  once  again  the  rue  St. 
Jacques,  the  clock  of  St.  Benoit-le-Betourne,  the 
sign-board  of  the  Trois  Pucelles,  and  the  St.  Cath- 
erine of  Monsieur  Blaizot. 

.  My  mother  wept  at  the  sight  of  me.  I  wept,  we 
embraced,  and  we  wept  anew.  My  father,  coming 
in  all  haste  from  the  Petit  Bacchus,  said,  with  soft- 
ened dignity: 

"Jacquot,  my  son,  I  will  not  hide  from  you  that 
I  was  very  irritated  with  you  when  I  saw  the  police 
enter  the  Reine  Pedauque  to  take  you,  or  failing 
you,  to  take  me  in  your  place.  They  would  not 
listen  to  anything,  affirming  that  it  would  be  per- 
266 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  267 

mitted  to  me  to  explain  myself  in  prison.  They 
sought  you  on  a  complaint  lodged  by  Monsieur  de 
la  Gueritaude.  I  formed  a  horrible  notion  of  your 
evil  ways  in  my  own  mind.  But  having  learnt  from 
your  letters  that  they  were  but  peccadilloes  I 
thought  only  of  seeing  you  again.  I  have  consulted 
many  a  time  with  the  landlord  of  the  Petit  Bacchus 
on  the  means  of  hushing  up  your  affair.  He  always 
answered  me,  'Maitre  Leonard,  go  and  find  the 
judge  with  a  big  bag  of  ecus  and  he  will  give  you 
back  your  son  as  white  as  snow.'  But  ecus  are  rare 
here,  and  there  is  neither  chicken,  goose  nor  duck 
which  lays  golden  eggs  in  my  house.  At  the  most, 
nowadays,  the  poultry  pays  but  for  the  fire  in  my 
chimney.  By  good  luck  your  sainted  and  worthy 
mother  had  the  idea  of  going  to  find  Monsieur 
d'Anquetil's  mother,  who  we  knew  was  busied  in 
her  son's  favour,  sought  for  at  the  same  time  as 
you  and  for  the  same  affair.  For  I  recognise,  my 
Jacquot,  that  you  have  played  the  scoundrel  in  com- 
pany with  a  gentleman,  and  my  heart  is  too  well 
placed  not  to  feel  the  honour  which  is  thus  reflected 
over  all  the  family.  Your  mother  then  demanded 
an  interview  with  Madame  d'Anquetil  in  her  house 
in  the  faubourg  St.  Antoine.  She  had  dressed  her- 
self neatly  as  if  she  were  going  to  mass,  and  Ma- 
dame d'Anquetil  received  her  kindly.  Your  mother 
is  a  saintly  woman,  Jacquot,  but  she  is  not  very 
well-bred,  and  she  spoke  at  first  unconventionally 
and  in  an  unseemly  fashion.  She  said,  'Madame, 
at  our  age,  nothing  is  left  us  after  God,  but  our 
children.'  It  was  not  the  thing  to  say  to  that  great 
lady  who  still  has  her  lovers." 

"Be  quiet,  Leonard,"  said  my  mother,  "Madame 
d'Anquetil's  behaviour  is  not  known  to  you,  and  I 


268  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

must  have  spoken  well  enough  to  the  lady,  for  she 
replied : 

"  'Be  at  peace,  Madame  Menetrier,  I  will  act  for 
your  son  as  for  my  own;  count  on  my  zeal.'  And 
you  know,  Leonard,  that  before  two  months  had 
elapsed  we  received  the  assurance  that  our  Jacquot 
could  return  to  Paris  without  any  anxiety." 

We  supped  with  good  appetite.  My  father 
asked  me  whether  I  counted  on  remaining  in  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac's  service.  I  replied  that  after  the 
ever-to-be-regretted  death  of  my  good  master  I  had 
no  wish  to  find  myself  with  that  cruel  Mosaide  and 
with  a  gentleman  who  paid  his  servants  only  in  fine 
speeches.  My  father  obligingly  invited  me  to  turn 
his  spit  as  before. 

"Latterly  I  have  given  the  employment  to 
brother  Ange,  Jacquot,"  he  told  me,  but  he  ac- 
quitted himself  less  well  than  Miraut  and  even  than 
you.  Will  you  not  take  your  place  on  the  stool 
again  in  the  chimney-corner,  my  son?" 

My  mother  who,  simple  as  she  was,  did  not  lack 
judgment,  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said: 

"Monsieur  Blaizot,  who  is  a  bookseller  at  the 
sign  of  St.  Catherine,  has  need  of  an  assistant. 
That  employment,  my  son,  would  fit  you  like  a 
glove.  You  have  gentle  ways  and  good  manners. 
That  is  what  is  suitable  for  the  selling  of  Bibles." 

I  went  at  once  and  offered  myself  to  Monsieur 
Blaizot,  who  took  me  into  his  service. 

My  misfortunes  had  rendered  me  wise.  I  was 
not  discouraged  by  the  humbleness  of  my  task,  and 
I  fulfilled  it  with  exactitude,  handling  the  feather- 
brush  and  the  broom  to  my  patron's  satisfaction. 

My  duty  was  to  pay  a  call  on  Monsieur  d'As- 
tarac.  I  presented  myself  at  the  great  alchemist's 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE          269 

the  last  Sunday  in  November  after  the  mid-day 
dinner.  The  distance  is  great  from  the  rue  St. 
Jacques  to  the  Cross  of  Les  Sablons,  and  the  al- 
manack does  not  lie  when  it  tells  us  that  the  days 
are  short  in  November.  When  I  arrived  at  La 
Roule  night  had  fallen,  and  a  dark  fog  covered  the 
deserted  road.  I  meditated  sadly  in  the  gloom. 

"Alas!"  I  said  to  myself,  "it  will  soon  be  a 
year  since  for  the  first  time  I  took  the  same  road 
in  the  snow  in  the  company  of  my  good  master, 
who  rests  now  on  a  vine-covered  hill  in  a  village  of 
Burgundy.  He  fell  asleep  in  the  hope  of  eternal 
life.  And  that  is  a  hope  it  befits  us  to  share  with 
so  learned  and  wise  a  man.  God  keep  me  from 
ever  doubting  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  But 
one  must  own  to  one's  self  that  all  that  belongs  to 
a  future  existence  and  to  another  world  appertains 
to  those  imperceptible  truths  which  one  believes 
without  being  affected  by  them,  and  which  have 
neither  taste  nor  savour,  in  such  wise  that  one  swal- 
lows them  without  being  aware  of  them.  For  mv 
part,  I  am  not  consoled  by  the  thought  of  one  day 
meeting  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  once  more  in 
Paradise.  Surely  he  would  not  be  recognisable, 
and  his  speeches  would  not  have  the  charm  they 
borrowed  from  circumstances." 

While  making  these  reflections  I  saw  before  me  a 
great  light  spreading  over  half  the  sky;  the  fog  was 
reddened  with  it  right  over  my  head,  and  the  light 
palpitated  at  its  source.  A  heavy  smoke  mingled 
with  the  vapours  of  the  air.  I  feared  at  once  that 
it  was  the  chateau  d'Astarac  on  fire.  I  hastened 
my  steps,  and  I  soon  saw  that  my  fears  were  but 
too  well-founded.  I  perceived  the  Calvary  of  Les 
Sablons  opaquely  black  against  a  torrent  of  flame 


270  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

and  I  saw,  nearly  at  the  same  time,  the  chateau 
whose  windows  all  blazed  as  if  for  a  sinister  revel. 
The  little  green  door  was  burst  open.  Shadows 
moved  in  the  park  and  whispered  in  horror.  They 
were  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  of  Neuilly  who 
had  hastened  thither  out  of  curiosity  and  to  bring 
help.  Some  were  throwing  jets  of  water  from  a 
pump,  which  fell  like  glittering  rain  in  the  blazing 
furnace.  A  thick  column  of  smoke  rose  above  the 
chateau.  A  rain  of  sparks  and  cinders  fell  around 
me,  and  I  soon  perceived  that  my  clothes  and  hands 
were  blackened  with  them.  I  thought  with  despair 
that  this  dust  which  filled  the  air  was  the  remains 
of  so  many  beautiful  books  and  precious  manu- 
scripts which  had  been  my  master's  joy,  the  re- 
mains perhaps  of  Zozimus  the  Panipolitan,  at 
which  we  had  worked  together  during  the  noblest 
hours  of  my  life. 

I  had  seen  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Coignard  die.  This 
time  it  was  his  very  soul,  his  shining  and  gentle 
soul,  that  I  thought  I  saw  reduced  to  powder  with 
the  queen  of  libraries.  I  felt  that  a  part  of  myself 
was  destroyed  at  the  same  time.  The  wind  which 
was  rising  added  strength  to  the  fire,  and  the  flames 
roared  like  hungry  throats.  Seeing  a  man  from 
Neuilly,  blacker  than  I  was  myself,  and  wearing  but 
his  waistcoat,  I  asked  him  if  they  had  saved  Mon- 
sieur d'Astarac  and  his  people. 

"No  one,"  said  he,  "has  come  out  of  the  chateau 
except  an  old  Jew,  who  was  seen  to  escape  with 
some  bundles  towards  the  marshes.  He  lived  in 
the  keeper's  cottage  on  the  river,  and  was  hated  for 
his  origin  and  for  the  crimes  of  which  he  was  sus- 
pected. Some  children  pursued  him,  and  in  flying 
he  fell  into  the  Seine.  He  was  fished  out  dead, 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  271 

holding  to  his  heart  a  grammary  and  six  gold  cups. 
You  can  see  him  on  the  bank  in  his  yellow  robe. 
He  is  awful,  with  open  eyes." 

"Ah,''  I  replied,  "his  end  was  due  to  his  crimes. 
But  his  death  will  not  give  me  back  the  best  of  mas- 
ters, whom  he  assassinated.  Tell  me  again,  has  no 
one  seen  Monsieur  d'Astarac?" 

At  the  moment  when  I  asked  this  question  I 
heard  one  of  the  restless  shadows  near  me  give  a 
terror-stricken  cry: 

"The  roof  is  going  to  fall  in." 

Then  I  recognised  with  horror  the  tall  black 
form  of  Monsieur  d'Astarac  running  along  the  gut- 
ter. The  alchemist  cried  in  a  ringing  voice : 

"I  rise  on  the  wings  of  the  flame  into  the  abode 
of  divine  life." 

He  spoke:  all  at  once  the  roof  gave  way  with 
a  horrible  crash,  and  flames  high  as  mountains  en- 
veloped the  friend  of  the  Salamanders. 


XXIV 

HERE  is  no  love  can  outlast  absence. 
The  memory  of  Jael,  cruel  at  first, 
softened  little  by  little,  and  there  re- 
mained to  me  but  a  vague  restless- 
ness of  which  she  was  not  even  the 
unique  object. 

Monsieur  Blaizot  waxed  old. 
He  withdrew  to  Montrouge,  to  his  little  house  in 
the  fields,  and  sold  me  his  stock-in-trade  in  consid- 
eration of  an  allowance  for  life.  Becoming,  in  his 
place,  sworn  bookseller  at  the  sign  of  the  Image  de 
Sa'inte  Catherine,  I  made  my  father  and  mother  re- 
tire there,  for  their  cook-shop  had  not  smoked  for 
some  time  past.  I  had  a  liking  for  my  modest  shop 
and  I  was  solicitous  to  deck  it.  I  nailed  old  Vene- 
tian maps  on  the  doors,  and  these  ornamented  with 
allegorical  engravings,  which  make  an  odd  and  old- 
world  ornamentation  no  doubt,  but  pleasant  to 
friends  of  the  classics.  My  knowledge,  on  the  con- 
dition that  I  took  care  to  hide  it,  did  me  no  harm  in 
my  business.  It  would  have  stood  more  in  my  light 
had  I  been,  like  Marc-Michel  Rey,  bookseller  and 
publisher,  and  obliged  as  he  was  to  earn  my  living 
at  the  expense  of  public  stupidity. 

I  stock,  as  they  say,  the  classic  authors,  and  it  is 
a  commodity  which  has  its  price  in  this  learned  rue 
St.  Jacques,  whose  antiquities  and  illustrious  occu- 
pants it  would  give  me  pleasure  one  day  to  write  of. 
The  first  Parisian  printer  set  up  his  venerable 
272 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  273 

presses  here.  The  Cramoisys,*  whom  Guy  Patin 
calls  the  kings  of  the  rue  St.  Jacques,  sent  forth 
from  here  the  collected  works  of  our  historians. 
Before  the  College  of  France  rose  up,  the  king's 
readers  Pierre  Danes, t  Frangois  Votable,  and 
Ramus,|  gave  their  lessons  in  a  shed  where  re- 
sounded the  quarrels  of  porters  and  washerwomen. 
And  how  can  we  forget  Jean  de  Meung,  who,  in  a 
little  house  in  this  street,  composed  the  Romaunt 
of  the  Rose?  § 

I  have  the  run  of  all  the  house,  which  is  old,  and 
dates  at  least  from  the  Gothic  period,  as  appears 
in  the  beams  of  wood  which  cross  on  the  narrow 
fagade,  in  the  two  projecting  storeys,  and  in  the 
overhanging  roof  laden  with  moss-grown  tiles.  It 
has  but  one  window  on  each  floor.  The  one  on  the 
first  floor  is  full  of  flowers  in  all  seasons  and  fur- 
nished with  strings  on  which  convolvulus  and  nas- 
turtium climb  in  the  spring-time.  My  good  mother 
plants  and  waters  them. 

It  is  the  window  of  her  room.  One  can  see  her 
from  the  street,  reading  her  prayers  from  a  book 
printed  in  large  type,  above  the  sign  of  Sainte  Cath- 
erine. Years,  devotion,  and  maternal  pride  have 
given  her  an  air  of  dignity,  and  to  see  her  waxen 

•  Les  Cramoisy.     Family  of  printers  living  in  Paris,  lyth  century. 

f  Danes,  Pierre.       Hellenist,  b.  Paris  1497. 

%Ramus.  Pierre  La  Raraee,  known  as  Ramus.  Philosopher  and 
grammarian.  He  was  the  precursor  of  Descartes.  Killed  at  the 
Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  1515-1572. 

§  Jacques  Tournebroche  was  unaware  that  Francois  Villon  lived 
in  the  rue  St.  Jacques,  at  the  house  in  the  cloister  of  St.  Benoit, 
called  the  house  of  the  green  door.  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard's 
pupil  would  no  doubt  have  taken  pleasure  in  recalling  the  memory 
of  this  old  poet  who,  like  him,  had  known  divers  kinds  of  people. 
[A.  France.] 


274  AT  THE  SIGN  OF 

face  under  the  high  white  coif  one  would  swear  it 
was  that  of  a  rich  bourgeoise. 

My  father,  with  advancing  years,  has  also  ac- 
quired a  certain  dignity.  As  he  likes  fresh  air  and 
movement  I  occupy  him  in  carrying  the  books  to 
town.  At  first  I  had  employed  brother  Ange,  but 
he  asked  for  alms  of  my  clients,  made  them  kiss 
relics,  stole  their  wine,  caressed  their  maid-servants, 
and  left  half  my  books  in  all  the  gutters  of  the 
neighbourhood,  I  withdrew  his  appointment  as  soon 
as  possible.  But  my  good  mother,  whom  he  makes 
believe  he  possesses  secrets  wherewith  to  gain 
heaven,  gives  him  soup  and  wine.  He  is  not  a  bad 
man  and  he  has  ended  by  inspiring  me  with  a  sort 
of  attachment. 

Many  savants  and  some  of  our  wits  frequent  my 
shop.  And  it  is  the  great  advantage  of  my  position 
to  be  put  in  daily  intercourse  with  people  of  worth. 
Among  those  who  come  oftenest  to  turn  over  the 
leaves  of  the  new  books  and  converse  familiarly 
with  one  another,  are  historians  as  learned  as  Tille- 
mont,  ecclesiastical  orators  who  equal  Bossuet  and 
even  Bourdaloue  in  eloquence;  poets,  comic  and 
tragic;  theologians  in  whom  pureness  of  morals  is 
joined  to  solidity  of  doctrine;  esteemed  authors  of 
Spanish  romances;  geometricians  and  philosophers 
capable,  like  Monsieur  Descartes,  of  measuring  and 
weighing  universes.  I  admire  them,  I  relish  their 
lightest  words.  But  none,  to  my  thinking,  equals  in 
genius  the  good  master  I  had  the  misfortune  to  lose 
on  the  Lyons  road;  none  recalls  that  incomparable 
elegance  of  thought,  the  sweet  sublimity,  that  amaz- 
ing richness  of  a  soul  always  overflowing  and  pour^ 
ing  forth  like  the  urns  of  those  personified  rivers 


THE  REINE  PEDAUQUE  275 

one  sees  in  marble  in  the  gardens;  none  offers  me 
that  inexhaustible  wellspring  of  knowledge  and 
morals  where  I  had  the  happiness  to  slake  the  thirst 
of  my  youth;  none  gives  me  even  the  shadow  of 
that  grace,  that  wisdom,  that  vigour  of  thought 
which  shone  in  Monsieur  Jerome  Coignard.  Him 
I  hold  for  the  kindliest  soul  that  ever  blossomed  on 
this  earth. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  UBRAfl 


